


Invictus

by CrunchySalad



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Blow Jobs, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchySalad/pseuds/CrunchySalad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>This fic takes elements from both the 616 comics and the movies, but it's <span class="u">very much an AU</span> of its own devices. The facts are these:</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Tony is fourteen when Stark Industries finds Captain America's frozen body. He's seventeen when he discovers the rather salacious reasons why his father was so intent on finding the man everyone presumed was dead. The problem that follows is that Tony might just understand his father's feelings all too well. Realizing that it's hopeless, he decides not to tell anyone or in any way pursue it. . . but then his second identity as Iron Man ruins the secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** So I haven't regularly read western superhero comics since I was a kid (unless you count Patrick Fillion's stuff?), and even then I was only really into X-Men, but lately I've watched the movies and read some books scattered here and there and decided to write this. As the summary states, this fic is very much an AU. It doesn't fit into any canon source, although it takes bits and cues from both movieverse and 616. Characterization is more on the 616 side. Also, for the simple reason that I like the idea of expansive lawns, Stark Mansion is imagined as right outside of New York City instead of in Manhattan.

Crystal goblets full of burgundy red. Women in gowns of every color, swirling about the room like so many moving confectioneries. Men in neatly pressed suits, all the shades of a black and white movie. All in all, it was a usual Saturday night at the Stark manor, New York's elite putting on a display that was part courting ritual and part Shakespearean drama. All the political maneuvering in that large oak ballroom was enough to make one dizzy.

Small Tony Stark (not so small, actually, now that he was all of fourteen years old) much preferred the solitude of his own room to this Gatsby-esque farce. Or, better yet, the familiar dorm room of his boarding school, as stifling as it was. But appearances must be kept. He was home and he was expected to attend these gatherings, lest he incur yet another lecture from his father.

Tony adjusted his tie as he made his way down the grand staircase. As he approached the bottom step he heard a door open and close, then saw a shock of red charmeuse appear in the hallway. Maria Stark, done up in old Hollywood glamour, accompanied by an entourage of servants and servant-like friends.

"Mother," Tony said as she drew close. It was the first time he had seen her since coming back to the mansion a few days ago.

Maria smiled, a thing warm but distant, like the fireplace on the other end of Tony's spacious bedroom.

"Baby Boy," she said, wrapping a hand around his shoulder and pressing a firm kiss upon his cheek. "You look more and more handsome each time a see you. Are your studies going well?"

"Yes, Mother," Tony replied.

"Good." She gave his shoulder one last squeeze and then she was off, back to the ballroom amidst the chattering of gossip.

Tony took a deep breath as he watched her disappear behind those heavy wooden doors. It was his turn now. In his mind he conjured up an image of his father, a smile on his face and a glass of scotch in his hand as he effortlessly hobnobbed with the most powerful men in the nation. Smooth and cool. Tony's shoulders pulled up a little straighter, his lips quirked up on one side. It was just so much easier to deal with these shindigs when he wasn't Tony Stark, the boy who would rather be sketching theoretical inventions and reading Arthurian legends in his bedroom. When he was, instead, his father Howard, genius inventor and sly entrepreneur. It was easier that way for Tony to glide into his family's ballroom, to entertain the rich, the powerful, the sycophantic, all three flocking to him as though it were a matter of course.

 _You look as beautiful as ever, Mrs. Carmichael. I could think of worse things to be doing on a Sunday than a game of polo. If Roberts thinks he has a chance in hell of passing that legislation, he should retire before the rest of his senility kicks in._ Platitudes and witticisms and whatever else was in Howard's repertoire, spouted by Tony without even a thought. The night passed exactly as Tony thought it would, at least until one of his father's assistants came to interrupt a conversation Howard was having with the governor. Howard's expression turned from annoyed to shocked to. . . almost hopeful. And then he was politely excusing himself and running off. While the interruption was rather strange it wasn't entirely rare, and Tony surmised that some important business venture was the cause of it. After he watched his father disappear from the hall, Tony turned back to his guests with a smile and resumed his end of the conversation.

Many of the guests stayed late into the night. Some lingered even after that. But finally they were all gone and the mansion re-converted from decadent ballroom to old, drafty house. The servants, mostly hidden until that moment, came out of the woodwork to start their cleaning duties. Tony loosened his tie and left the room, passing by Jarvis along the way.

"Jarvis," he said, with a nod of his head and a small smile that was actually genuine.

"Sir," Jarvis said back, with a nod of his own and a warm glow in his eyes.

"Know where my old man is?" Tony asked.

"I believe he is in his study," Jarvis replied. "Attending to some rather serious business."

"Thanks, Jarvis," Tony said, changing course to head there now. He had to admit to himself that he was curious about what was important enough to call his father's attention away from the governor of New York state, even if he would never admit it out loud. As far as his father needed to know, Tony had not the least bit of interest in the family business.

Tony briefly wondered what excuse he would give for his presence, but by the time he was in the hallway housing his father's study he realized that it wouldn't be necessary. He could hear his father before he even set foot off the staircase. He made his way to just outside the door, where he stayed in the shadows even as he looked in.

"I don't give a shit what the higher ups say," his father was yelling into his phone, his usual diplomacy obviously forsaken for more heavy-handed tactics. His fists were clenched so tightly that they looked almost red, one of them threatening to break the glass in his hand. "Despite what they want to believe, he's not property of the U.S. military. It was one of our operations that found him, and we're keeping him. Do what you need to do to keep them off our backs."

Tony wondered who the 'he' his father was discussing was. He wondered about the circumstances of the call.

"That's what we have lawyers for. If any of them weren't working on this as of five minutes ago, they're fired. In the meantime he's to be transported to my estate immediately, understood? Just so long as we're clear."

His father hung up the phone with a loud thud that had the phone shaking for a moment. Eyes the color of a blue flame looked up, directly at where Tony was hidden in the shadows.

"Oh, for the. . ." And here Howard sounded as frustrated and angry as he ever was with Tony. He got up from his desk, crossed the room, and glowered hard enough that Tony took a step back. His voice, when he spoke again, was low and foreboding. "I'll deal with you later, Tony."

And then the door slammed on Tony's face.

Tony didn't go to sleep that night. Instead, he camped out beside the pool, doodling circuits underneath soft blue lights. From this vantage point he could see both the heli-pad and part of the private road that led to the mansion. Whoever the 'he' his father was waiting for, Tony would be able to know when he arrived. Who, he wondered, could be so important to his father? Tony had never seen Howard display this particular mixture of concern and righteous anger over anyone. Not even, Tony thought, a small pain in his chest, over his own son.

Dawn was barely breaking when it happened. The soft, hazy light of morning had started to creep over the rolling hills and perfectly manicured gardens of the Stark Mansion. The noise came first, that unmistakable almost-chugging of a helicopter propeller. Soft at first, then almost deafening, the sound sending small vibrations through the earth as it came close. It landed spot on in the middle of the pad, stilled, shut off, and then there were several men coming out of it, escorting what looked to be a wheeled cot.

Tony stood up. Walked closer. The man on the cot was big and blond, and that was about all Tony could make out before he was rushed inside, medical paraphernalia in tow. Tony waited awhile. Ten minutes. Half an hour. Until most of the men were leaving his house, until the helicopter was spinning away, and only then did Tony make his way inside and toward the guest rooms. It was easy to find where the man had been placed because of the medical personnel going in and out of the room. Tony stood outside and caught a glimpse as the door opened and closed.

A man with handsome features prone on a large bed, oxygen mask over the lower half of his face and IV dripping into his arm. And his father. . . his father, Howard Stark, sitting by the man's side, head in his hands and a tender, hopeful expression on his face. The last thing Tony saw was his father reach for the man's hand, and then the door shut for good.

Strange, but all of the sudden it felt like Tony's lack of sleep had caught up to him. He felt so very tired. Too tired to make heads or tails of what was going on, too tired to ponder over the fact that Howard Stark could make an expression like that. Tony headed back to his room, where he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

~*~

Despite promises otherwise, Howard never did show up to "deal with" Tony. It was Jarvis who was sent in his place, a tray of assorted breakfast foods in his hands. He placed them on Tony's bedside and went to open the blinds as Tony slowly woke. His clock read four in the afternoon; still much too early.

"Good morning, young sir," Jarvis said, moving the tray to Tony's lap as the young man sat up. "You'll be pleased to know that your father has smoothed things over with your school. You can return as soon as the end of this week."

"I wonder how much he had to donate this time to 'smooth things over'," Tony said. He took a bite out of a slice of toast as he watched Jarvis move about his room, straightening things up bit by bit. "I see he couldn't be bothered to come lecture me himself."

"Master Stark is sadly preoccupied."

Yes, well, he was always preoccupied. Tony put his toast down, not really all that hungry. He wanted to blame the mystery man for his father's absence, but knew that Howard probably wouldn't have dealt with this himself regardless. Imminent expulsion from his boarding school was, after all, something that tended to threaten Tony Stark every now and then. No big deal.

"Your headmaster has a suggestion for your restlessness."

"Is that what they're calling it?" Tony asked, with a noise that was half-scoff, half-chuckle.

"He's concerned that it might be boredom that drives your more. . . rambunctious endeavors. He feels that you might obtain more stimulation at a higher level. Perhaps enrolled in a university."

While Tony had no doubt that he could handle university-level coursework, he wondered if this was just the school administrators attempting to pawn him off onto someone else. At any rate, he wasn't particularly averse to entering college at some point in the near future. "I suppose my father already has an opinion on the matter."

"I believe he has already spoken to his associates at Wharton."

Of course. It was rather ridiculous how his father kept pushing him toward the economic side of the family business, despite Tony's inclinations toward science. Or maybe Howard did so because of it. Maybe it his way of saying, _"Sorry, you're just not good enough to do what I do."_

"It's nice to know he's just as involved as ever when it comes to planning out my life," Tony said.

"The last time I checked," Jarvis said, a small smile on his lips, "you were very much in charge of planning your own life, sir."

As Jarvis left the room, Tony couldn't help but smirk a little at the sentiment. _I am the master of my fate,_ he thought. _I am the captain of my soul._ Feeling just a little bit better about life in general, he got up and started getting ready for the day. A few inquiries found that his mother was off to Paris, his father to Arlington. Tony wondered if the impromptu trip had anything to do with the mystery man, who was currently being attended to by a small army of doctors, nurses, and security personnel. Curious, Tony made his way toward the man's room. He was in the hallway when he heard a scuffle, a rush of footsteps as the aforementioned army was set into a frenzy, and a yell.

"Bucky! Bucky, don't!"

Apparently Sleeping Beauty had woken up.

When Tony got the the guestroom door, he was treated to the sight of several servants trying to hold down a rather disoriented, very strong man. At Tony's footsteps, the man looked up, clear blue eyes going a little bit wide.

"Howard?"

Tony frowned. As he stepped closer, out of the shadows and into the light, he saw hope and recognition in the man's eyes fade into something else. . . a little curiosity, maybe. A lot of confusion. Tony was close enough for him to touch now, and that's exactly what he did, warm fingers ghosting over the side of Tony's face.

"No. You're not Howard."

"I'm his son," Tony said.

The words only seemed to confuse the man more. His eyebrows knitted together, creating creases over his handsome features. "That's not possible. . ."

"Mr. Rogers," said one man, and Tony recognized him as one of the leading scientists in Stark Industries' research and development department. "Don't worry, you're safe. You're in the Stark family home right now. We'll explain everything once you're lucid enough. Mr. Rogers, can you tell us what your last memories are?"

The man's eyes closed as he laid back, his expression pained. His voice came out as a low whisper. "Bucky. . ."

The scientist shared a long look with his associates before turning back to the man. "Of course we can talk later, after you've had some time to get your bearings."

When the man didn't say anything, a few people started to usher everyone else out. Tony found himself back in the hallway with the rest of the riffraff. His arm shot out as the lead scientist passed him, clutching onto a shoulder as the older man turned and frowned down upon him.

"What's going on?" Tony asked. "Who is that man and what's happened to him?"

"That man," the scientist said, his frown deepening, "is no other than Steve Rogers. Otherwise known as Captain America."

Tony outright laughed at that. "That guy's a little too young to fit the bill, isn't he?"

"You don't age much when you're in suspended animation, Mr. Stark. And he's been frozen in ice for the last several decades."

"I'm fairly sure that's not how cryonics works," Tony said with a scoff. "Last I checked successful temperature-induced suspended animation involved the draining of blood and zombie dogs. Very voodoo stuff, that kind of science. Most people, when they're frozen inside a block of ice, generally just die."

"Yes, well, Steve Rogers is not most people." The scientist brushed Tony's hand of his shoulder and turned to go on his way. "But I'm sure your father can tell you more about that than I can."

Tony's curiosity, however, was sated enough for now. Given the circumstances and his father's involvement, he could assume some kind of human experimentation. So his father had created some kind of superhero. Things like that happened all the time, really, and it was interesting enough to know the comics might not have been exaggerating when it came to Captain America. What was more baffling was his father's attachment to said superhero; it didn't exactly seem like the relationship between scientist and subject. Tony would have thought they might have been friends, but the Howard Stark he knew had no use for or want of friends. To a man like that, other people were no better than tools.

After that Tony went back to his room, where he took his old Captain America action figure from its place at the back of one of his bookshelves. The once vibrant red, white, and blue plastic was faded and covered with dust. Tony didn't remember the last time he had touched the thing, but he had never thrown it away or shoved it into some attic box either. It was the only toy his father had ever personally given him.

Captain America. World War II hero. National icon. A lost and disoriented man, on the cusp of mourning everything he had once known.

Tony dusted off the action figure and placed him back on the shelf. Closer to the front this time.

His father came back just several hours later and disappeared into the guestroom not long after. And with that, even with the added commotion of Captain America, some sort of normalcy returned to the Stark household. Everyone receding to their favorite dark corners, doing little to venture out into each other's spaces. Tony was sure he knew where his father was to be found and he generally avoided that section of the house. He had a feeling that if he didn't, he would be treated to the sight of his father being kind, of his father being warm. Just the thought of it made something twist in his stomach. Memories came unbidden of the few times in his life when Tony had been bedridden and sick, when he had felt small and scared, and the only attention given him was some maid sent with soup.

But those things didn't matter right not. Tony wouldn't let them. Instead of dwelling on it, he had phone conferences with his school advisers about how graduating early would actually work for him and looked up applications. MIT and Caltech. He was sure to get into both, as his connections and preternatural intellect ensured him a place at any university he chose. Applying to only these two schools would make it clear enough to his father where his interests lied; furthermore, when the time came he'd be able to choose between a vibrant college town and sunny California. Both options were appealing in their own ways.

Over the next few days Tony would, every now and then, come across Steve Rogers as he carried out his day to day life in the mansion. Steve sitting by the pool, reading the newspaper. Steve in the library, using two fingers to navigate the internet on the latest Stark laptop. In some of the old propaganda posters, Captain America had that perfect movie star smile, but Tony hasn't seen Steve's lips quirk upwards once. In fact, they were almost always set in a small frown and accompanied by little crease marks. And Steve's eyes always look so darkly serious, slight bags underneath them to speak to a lack of sleep. They had brought the man back to life, but he was hardly more than a ghost.

A few times, curiosity and boredom getting the better of him, Tony would hack into his father's computer to access files on Steve Rogers. Most of it was dreadfully boring. The documentation didn't even speak to the creation of Captain America. Instead, it started with his disappearance and the endeavors of Stark Industries to recover his body and shield (the metal of which was worth no small amount of money). Even the interesting things were reduced to dull lists and technical write-ups. There was one particularly macabre list, compiled after Steve had awoken. It was a list of friends and family that Stark Industries had attempted to track down. A list of names, and beside most every name one word. Deceased.

There were videos as well, but they were as dry as the texts. Most of them were medical tests. Some of them were interviews. Steve, sitting in the too large guest room he was being kept in, answering questions for some disembodied voice. It was easy enough to imagine one of his father's workers sitting off to the side reading from a sheet of paper.

"Mr. Rogers," said the voice on one of the videos. "The last official record of you was in 1945. An experimental drone plane was stolen; you and James Barnes boarded it just when it took off. According to eyewitness reports, the plane exploded while over the North Atlantic ocean. Do you remember this incident?"

"Yes."

"Was this the last incident you remember before waking up in the Stark mansion?"

"Yes."

"In your own words, exactly what is the last thing you remember?

Steve Rogers was a man frozen in his twenties, but the haunted look on his face made him look closer to his real life. The shadows of the room danced over his conventionally perfect features as he looked down, looked away from the camera. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and steady. Too much so.

"The last thing I saw was Bucky dying. At that moment, I felt like it didn't matter if I lived or died. . . and then I was falling."

*~*

Not two days after Steve's arrival, a black sedan with Virginia license plates drove up the meandering driveway to Stark mansion's front door. Tony sipped on his morning coffee as he watched from an open window on the second floor. He was expecting government, maybe military. Instead, he watched as a handsome woman his father's age stepped out of the care, followed by two young children who bore some resemblance to her. Steve came out to meet her, and as they hugged on the shallow stone steps, there was an actual smile on Steve's face. Though anyone who saw it would be hard-pressed to call it an entirely happy one.

"Peggy," Steve said, stiff words floating up to the window, "it's so good to see you."

At least her smile was genuine, even if it was tempered by the fact that she looked close to tears. "Steve. I can't believe it's actually you."

Then they were drifting away, out of earshot, into the mansion. Tony moved through the house himself, toward the back, where they reappeared to take breakfast on the veranda. He couldn't hear, this time, but he watched as they chatted, as they ate, as Steve played a round of tag with Peggy's children while Peggy looked on with a sad little smile. It occurred to Tony that they had no doubt been roughly the same age the last time they had seen each other. Now Steve would be almost believable as a son born of some indiscretion of Peggy's youth.

Eventually they said goodbye. Tony could see Steve move to walk them out, could see Peggy say that it wasn't necessary, and then Steve hugged all three of them tightly to his chest. But once they were out of sight Steve seemed to crumble, bit by bit, until he collapsed back into the chair with his head in his hands. He looked. . . tired.

It was quite likely some semblance of pity or sympathy that spurred Tony to moving. But before he really thought about it he was walking downstairs and outside. Once he got there, though, once he was just several feet away from Steve, he wasn't sure what to do. So he just stood there. Hands behind his back, feet unsteady, watching the lines of Steve's shoulders shake just so. Usually he would just default to the usual trick he used whenever he was feeling uncomfortable or awkward, but for some reason he didn't particularly want to pretend to be his father right now. Not with Steve.

"Hey," Tony finally said.

Steve looked up at the noise, and thankfully he hadn't been crying or anything equally embarrassing. The blank expression on his face settled into recognition as he looked at Tony, and he stood up with the ultra-straight posture of a military man as he held a hand out to Tony.

"You must be Anthony," he said. "I apologize for not greeting you properly before this."

"No apologies necessary," Tony replied, not surprised to find that Steve's handshake was warm and solid. "I imagine you've been fairly busy, what with adjusting to a whole new time frame."

Something flickered behind Steve's eyes before, just as quickly, it was gone again. "Still, I've been remiss not to at least say hello to my host."

"Host?" Tony chuckled a little. "Really, you're thinking of my old man. I'm just the brat that's home for a few days."

A puzzled look crossed over Steve's face. "You don't live here usually?"

Tony shrugged and helped himself to one of the chairs, hoping it would make him feel a little more comfortable. "Boarding school. It keeps both me and my old man sane. You know the saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"I know it," Steve replied, taking a cue from Tony and sitting back down on his chair. "I'm not sure I've ever really believed it."

"So. . . " Tony trailed off, unsure of what to say. He wasn't even clear on the reason he had come down here to begin with. To cheer the guy up? Like he was capable of that. "Captain America. I used to dress up as you for Halloween. It's a little surreal, you sitting in front of me like this."

"Yes, it is," Steve agreed, no doubt for completely different reasons.

Tony leaned forward onto the table, fingers tracing nonexistent patterns on the silk cloth covering it. In the near distance one of the gardeners was trimming the hedges, but other than the metal clanking of the shears it was strangely quiet.

"You seem like you could use a shot of whiskey," Tony finally said. It certainly helped both his parents during times of stress.

That statement managed to elicit the smallest of smiles from Steve. "Alcohol has no effect on me."

"In that case, you have my deepest sympathies."

Steve shook his head. "It's not so bad."

And, again, that awkward silence stretched between them. Tony had been hoping to excuse himself to fetch a bottle of liquor. Steve would have had a few glasses, Tony would have snuck a few sips from the bottle, and it would have taken the edge off of both of them. Instead, they were still stuck opposite each other at this too large table, nothing to fill the space between them.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I'm not being much of a conversationalist. You'd think I could be more gracious toward Howard's son."

Inwardly, Tony bristled a bit at being referred to as 'Howard's son.' Outwardly, he waved his hands in a gesture of dismissal. "Don't worry about it. Like I said before, you've got a lot on your mind."

"Still, I suppose I should try to be less morbid. I should be happy that, at least, two of the people that I knew and cared for are still alive. That they were both able to live such full lives." Steve had been talking to his hands, but then he looked up at Tony. His lips tugged upward even as his eyes stayed blank. "I should feel lucky that Howard found me. Your father's always been such a kind man."

 _To whom_ , Tony wondered. He frowned as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, then realized the position made him look every inch the petulant child and straightened up again. "It seems like the the Howard Stark you know isn't the same person as the Howard Stark I know."

The pseudo-smile dropped from Steve's face as a confused look took over. "What do you mean? Howard's one of the nicest people I know."

"That's why I'm saying he's not the same guy I call dad," Tony said, not caring to elaborate. Kindness and niceties are two things Howard had never seen fit to show his own flesh and blood son, and yet he had bestowed them easily enough on the man sitting in front of Tony right now. Did Tony need to become a superhero to garner that kind of attention? It was a mistake, coming here to talk to Steve. Tony should have just stayed away. It wouldn't have been hard; he was leaving tomorrow anyway. He started to move, about to make an abrupt departure, when Steve's hand on his wrist froze him in his seat.

"And I should feel lucky to be able to see this time period. It's really amazing, the present world."

Apparently Steve had noticed Tony's discomfort and had decided a change in topic was in order. Tony, however, wasn't feeling nearly as accommodating now as he was before the topic of his father had come up. "Well, sure. We've got the internet, ultimate frisbee, diseases you haven't even heard of and cures for ones you have."

"No. Not the inventions. The people. . . the fact that this country has become a nation that truly offers freedom for all, regardless of race or gender."

Tony frowned and wondered if he should laugh. Even the comic book Captain America wasn't that corny. "Are you for real? You're a joke, right?"

For his part, Steve just looked confused. "I assure you, I'm not joking. I'm genuinely proud of what this country has become."

"Of course you are," Tony said. "You're Captain America."

The name was said with some small amount of derision, something Steve seemed to notice but decided not to comment upon. Tony pulled his hand away and stood up.

"Really sorry," Tony said, already walking away. "But I'm pretty busy. Maybe we'll talk some more next time I'm home."

Although by that time, Tony thought, they probably would have set Steve up with a place of his own. He wouldn't have to deal with Captain America. He wouldn't have to deal with his idealized childhood hero being such great friends with his father. What on earth could Captain America, all-American beacon of all that was good and bright, see in dark, sly Howard Stark? And why hadn't Tony deserved to see even a modicum of the great man that Howard had shown to Steve Rogers?

Tony wound up back in his room, of course, more comfortable in that relatively small space than he was in the rest of the mansion. Not ten minutes later there was a knock on his door, then a deep, solid voice.

"Anthony. I'm sorry if I said anything to upset you." And of course Captain America would come to apologize when he hadn't even done anything wrong.

"Don't worry about it, Cap," Tony said, trying not to put any sarcasm or snark into the nickname. "And call me Tony. Everyone else does."

Tony hoped that would be the end of it, apology accepted and goodbye, but there were no footsteps announcing Steve's departure. He listened for a few moments, moments that seemed to stretch on and on, before realizing that Steve wasn't leaving. The other man was apparently finding the right words to say, and when he spoke his voice was much soft to be coming out of someone who was six foot two and over two hundred pounds.

"Tony," he said, "I truly am sorry. I'm still adjusting to. . . well, everything. I don't have much left in this world anymore. It seems as though you have some issues with your father, but Howard is one of the only things connecting me to this time and place. He's important to me. And even though I don't know you, you're important to me as well, if only by virtue of being his son. I'd hate it if we couldn't get along."

And what exactly could he say to that? He would be leaving in the morning anyway; might as well play nice for now. He got up, plucking a thin sliver of a book from his shelf without even having to look at where it was located. He could always buy another copy. He opened the door and passed the worn pages to Steve, who took them with a rather confused expression.

"William Ernest Henley," Tony said by way of explanation. "There's a dog-eared page in there that's seen me through some dark times. Maybe it will help for you."

Steve's large hands wrapped around the book, barely gripping it, as though it were delicate enough to break apart at the touch. "Thank you, Tony."

And then he smiled. A smile that almost, just almost, reached his eyes. It was the tiniest bit of something like genuine happiness, and it was the first time Tony had seen it on Steve's face. And somehow it made Tony feel about ten times more uncomfortable and awkward than he already was. His fingers fiddled with the door frame as he quickly looked away.

"So, yeah, enjoy," he said. "I really do have to pack, so. . . I'll see you later."

"See you later, Tony. If I don't see you before you leave, have fun in school."

Tony nodded and closed the door without looking back at Steve. He waited, listening, until steady footsteps carried Steve away, and then he went to collapse in his bed. Captain America. Just one more reason why Tony was relieved to be going back to school come morning; exactly why, however, was a rather difficult matter for him to pinpoint.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony Stark rather enjoyed his current lifestyle. His intelligence, wealth, and supposed good looks made him extremely popular on his college campus despite his somewhat scandalous younger age. And, contrary to popular opinion, MIT wasn't just socially inept nerds. There were a few very attractive, very charming women at the school. And once Tony had gone through all of them, he had the greater Boston area to play around in. It had only been two years at university and Tony felt like he could stay in college forever. Perhaps he would.

Of course, that didn't mean he wouldn't have to go home every now and then. Never for more than a few days at a time and never when he could help it. This time he was there in the middle of an uncharacteristically hot March, making an appearance of a few days before jetting off to Barbados to join some friends. At the moment he was adrift on an inflatable raft in the middle of the estate's marble-tiled pool, enjoying the hot sun on his skin and the ice cold margarita in his hand.

And of course his father's harsh voice would have to ruin all that.

"Tony."

Tony didn't even look over to where he knew his father would be standing at the edge of the pool. "I've barely been back from Cambridge eight hours. Give me a break, will you? We can plan the rest of my life later."

"I've built and destroyed companies in little over eight hours," Howard said, disapproving. Always disapproving, at least when he was speaking to Tony. "Maybe if you put that supposedly intelligent mind to yours to work, you could accomplish more in eight hours than just bedding the governor's daughter."

Tony only shrugged. It wasn't his fault she had been waiting in his room for him once he had gotten back home, soft and warm and oh so willing. How Howard had found out about it, though, was a mystery. Or maybe not. No doubt one of the servants had told.

"The first floor study, Tony. Now."

After his father left Tony floated around for just a bit more. It wouldn't do to be too obliging, after all. Once he got up he toweled himself off and walked to the study, where he plopped himself into a large leather chair and tried not to notice the cold air-conditioning on his bare skin. His father was pouring a drink and, when he finished, tossed a few of those awful Boston society papers at Tony. Photos of him, a glass of alcohol in one hand and various girls draped around him, adorned the pages.

"Girls and booze," Howard said. "Is that what we pay your tuition for?"

Tony shrugged. When he was around, alcohol and women always seemed to just appear; there was no reason not to take advantage of it. "Published research papers and international competition awards. Why don't you have news clippings of those?"

"Trifles," Howard said, taking a swig from his glass. "You could do so much more if you weren't acting a fool most of your time. How do you expect to run the company when you can't focus on what's important?"

"Last time I checked you were doing an okay job at running the company yourself, old man. If I'm such a failure, I don't see why you need me around." Tony was already bored of this conversation. He felt like they had had it too many times by now, like they were on loop, played ad infinitum. The way Tony had it figured, once he graduated he could be shuttered away to the company's labs, where he could design things that the world couldn't even imagine. And when those inventions made Stark Industries even more profitable than it was now, even his father would have to admit, however grudgingly, that Tony was actually doing something right.

"Tony, you're-"

"Excuse me, sirs." It was Jarvis, standing at the open door. "Mr. Rogers is here."

"Go ahead and show him in," Howard said, before turning back to Tony. "You're wasting your talent, Tony. It wouldn't hurt you to take something in your life seriously, for once."

Tony frowned. There were many things in life he took seriously; that his father couldn't see that wasn't his fault. At any rate, he decided the best course of action was to wait for Steve to make his way through the halls and into the study. Dealing with his father tended to be easier with Steve around. Sure enough, the moment the other man appeared Howard seemed to mellow, although that might have been a day's worth of alcohol kicking in.

Steve gave Tony a confused look, no doubt wondering at his lack of clothing, before clapping a hand on the young man's shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Tony. You don't come back to New York often enough."

"Hey, Steve," Tony said. As much as Tony would never admit it, Steve's attention gave him some strange, almost smug sense of satisfaction. Maybe it was because Steve spared him more thoughts than he had ever gotten from his father and mother, especially since Maria had left Howard almost two years ago. Although, ironically, he saw his mother now more often than he ever had before the divorce. She liked to invite him to fundraisers and other society events that she attended in Boston. Every so often he would actually go, even if their meetings never lasted more than a few moments of idle chatter before Maria was off to greet the next person.

"I made reservations at nine," Howard said to both of them. Then, turning to Tony, "I trust you'll be dressed more appropriately by then."

Another change in recent years. Tony wasn't sure if it was the divorce or Steve's influence, but Howard had actually taken to eating meals with Tony from time to time. On one night each time Tony was home, almost without fail, the three of them would go out for a rather awkward dinner together. Steve and Tony would talk about school, work, baseball, like they were normal people having a normal conversation. Howard would spend most of the time on his Starkphone conducting business.

Before Tony could get up and get ready, however, Howard's phone rang. Steve and Tony were treated to a fairly harsh exchange before Howard hung up with a scowl.

"I'm sorry, Steve," he said. "It looks like I won't be able to make dinner after all. Business calls."

"Oh. Of course." The expected disappointment clouded Steve's features, if only just minutely. One Howard's footsteps took him out of the room, Steve turned his attention back toward Tony. "Looks like it's just you and me, Tony."

Tony almost smiled; in a way, that was almost better. It would, at the least, make for a more comfortable night. But then Steve's eyes landing on the newspapers Howard had thrown at Tony before, and a disapproving frown tugged at his lips.

"Aren't you too young to be drinking?" Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. "Underage drinking and casual sex are rites of college. Nothing unusual in this time period, really."

"I see." That little frown didn't disappear. Steve often seemed loath to truly pass judgement on the cultural values of a different time period, although that didn't stop him from doing so from time to time. Tony was sure that, with this, Steve would let it go without too much comment.

"That stuff happened even in the straight-laced forties, didn't it?" Tony asked. Modern people tended to look at times past with an idealistic lens, but Tony was smart enough to know better.

"Well, I'm sure it did, but not to the extent that you say it does now." And not to Steve Rogers, was the implicit understanding. "And it was certainly not considered the norm."

"Well, times change." Tony grinned. "I'm not doing anything that other kids don't do. Just being your typical college student."

Steve sighed a little bit, but there was a resigned tilt to his shoulder that showed his acceptance if not really his understanding. "I just don't see the appeal of sleeping with someone you don't care for. What pleasure do you gain from a string of girls whose names you don't even remember?"

Tony's grin faltered as his eyes traced over the handsome planes of Steve's face. _A very transitory one_ , he wanted to say, _but it's better than nothing._ All he had to do was be a little nice and they were opening their arms, opening their legs, letting him slide inside their wet heat. And as he rutted into them, as his body shuddered and his semen spilled into the prerequisite condom, he felt a little bit less alone. If only for a moment.

Steve cleared his throat, eager to change the subject. "At any rate, you should probably get changed if we're to make our reservation."

"Sure thing, Cap," Tony said. He slid out of the chair and made his way to his room, excited at the prospect of not having to deal with his father anymore. Chances were, he wouldn't even see him again before he was off to Japan.

A half hour later they were out of the house and on their way to some new pizza parlor in the Lower East Side, completely disregarding the fact that Howard had made a reservation at a more formal restaurant. Steve was more comfortable in more casual places, and Tony had found over the years that he was too. They fell into their usual easy conversation. Steve updated Tony on how things with the military were going, filling him in on things Captain America didn't disclose on recent television appearances. Tony talked about his classes and projects in school, basking in the rapt attention that Steve paid him. Other pizza aficionados would look their way, either recognizing Tony Stark from the society pages or Steve Rogers from. . . well, everywhere, but they never said anything. The nice thing about New Yorkers was that they generally left their celebrities in peace.

On the car ride home Tony convinced Steve to come to part of a technology conference, but only if Tony went with him to an art exhibition that was coming up. Once home they watched a movie in the mansion's small theater and then went back to their bedrooms, where Tony drifted off pondering how normal people were able to enjoy these kind of easy, cozy evenings all the time. At one point this house had been all dark shadows and cold corners. With Steve's presence, it was almost warm.

Tony woke up with his alarm clock glowing just past three a.m. His sleeping habits had changed for the worse since his admittance into college, and for a moment he wondered if he had some project due that he should be working on. Or, perhaps, a project not due but that he wanted to be working on anyway. Once he realized that there was nothing of the sort, he was too awake to go back to bed easily. And so it was that Tony found himself heading to the library to catch up on some reading.

The path to the library wasn't a particularly long one. A few tall, dark hallways, past his father's bedroom. . . except this time Tony didn't go past his father's bedroom, at least not right away. He stopped several feet in front of his father's door, frozen in place by the noises coming from behind it. It was nothing so obvious as grunting or moaning, but it was clear all the same: the sounds of sex were emanating from his father's bedroom. But with who? Tony was sure his father had had dalliances since the divorce, but he wasn't so foolhardy to bring such affairs home. Perhaps this was more than just a simple dalliance. Perhaps Tony was bound to have a new mother soon. A chill ran through his spine at the thought before he told himself it didn't matter. A stepmother would no doubt be as involved with his life as his real mother was.

Some kind of morbid curiosity spurred Tony to do what he did next. He walked up to his father's bedroom and opened the door. Just a few inches, just enough to peek in and then promptly freeze. Blond hair. Broad shoulders and an expansive back. Thighs thick with muscle moving in rhythmic motion, familiar back and forth movements that would be titillating if context didn't render the whole scene just a little bit sickening. And then there were the voices. Voices Tony knew all too well, murmuring things he didn't really wanted to think about. _I'm coming. . . come inside me_ might have been two such statements, and at that point Tony realized he never should have opened the door. He turned, all too aware of the heavy door slamming shut behind him, and all but raced to the library. He barely took stock of his too pale complexion in the mirror before grabbing a bottle of liquor and sinking down into the familiar comfort of his favorite leather chair. Alcohol never felt as good burning a path down his throat then it did at that moment.

There were a million emotions swirling inside Tony's skin, but he could hardly identify two of them. Shock and. . . not disgust. Not disgust, even though he had caught his father in flangantre, because how could he feel disgust when all he had seen were Steve's powerful thighs in motion? There was a warmth spreading through his body, because it's not as though he had never admired Steve on a physical level, it's not as though he had never imagined what Steve would look like in coitus, but that warmth was greatly tempered by something that felt suspiciously like hurt. Steve and his father had been sleeping together.

Although this explained why Steve treated him with the specific brand of almost paternal kindness that he did. That thought in particular made Tony feel just a little bit nauseated.

The half-expected footsteps came a few minutes later. They were a run at first. Quick, hard meetings of skin-cushioned bone and hardwood floor, loud if only for the quiet that permeated the estate. They slowed before the library door. Stopped. Hesitated. And then the door opened, and Tony didn't have to look up to know that Steve would be standing, sheepish and embarrassed, at the entrance to the room.

Those footsteps were softer and slower now. Little ploddings over carpet until the man they carried stood at the armrest of Tony's chair. Tony didn't protest when a gentle touch pulled the bottle of alcohol from his fingers. And then Steve finally came into view, hair mussed and clothes haphazardly thrown on, as he placed the bottle back onto the mini-bar.

Tony wasn't sure what to say. Apparently, neither did Steve, who could only stare at the bottles in front of him as though they were objects of immense fascination. For a long time there was only quiet tension between them, both so still they might have been statues, the air in the room thick and heavy. It was Steve who finally broke the silence, with a statement that was neither here nor there and had nothing to do with anything.

"Once," he said, his voice measured and his fingers almost reverent on a crystal whiskey decanter, "when I first realized exactly how much Howard drank, we had something of a fight over it. That night I went through the house and poured every single bottle of alcohol down the drain. Come morning they had all been quietly replaced."

Tony wondered if that was Steve's way of telling him it wasn't just sex, that he and Howard had an actual meaningful relationship. Somehow it was almost worse that way. Tony resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Instead, he merely leaned his head to the side, where his palm was waiting to prop it up. "How long?"

"A year."

So more than a year after his parents had divorced. He supposed he should take some comfort in the fact that Steve hadn't broken his parents up, not that he ever thought that was what happened. Steve Rogers wasn't the type of man to play home wrecker.

"We wanted to tell you," Steve said, and it was always somewhat obvious when Steve lied. At least it was to Tony.

"You wanted to tell me," Tony corrected. "My dad disagreed."

"He didn't think you should be concerned with it."

More like he didn't think it was of consequence for Tony to know. Tony could imagine Steve broaching the subject and his father spouting off some flippant "why bother" in reply.

"You're probably disgusted," Steve went on. "The idea of your father with another man."

"No." That wasn't it exactly. Tony attempted a shrug that came out as more of a little tick. "No, I mean, homosexuality isn't as taboo now as it was when you were around."

It wasn't as though Tony himself hadn't "gone Greek," so to speak, in the past, although it hardly seemed the time or place to bring up Ty or the few other male paramours he had taken in his relatively short life. Tony would rather keep the focus on Steve and. . . Steve and his father.

"Were you together before you were frozen?" Tony asked. "Is that why he spent so long looking for you?"

"No," Steve replied. "We were just good friends at the time. I was. . . well, I had less than a handful of lovers during the war, and none of them were your father."

Tony wondered if it were that simple. If Howard hadn't been harboring affections for Steve Rogers all this time. Maybe Maria had known, maybe that's why she had left. At any rate there was nothing left to say about the matter; Steve and his father were together, and apparently they had been for some time. What else could Tony do but resign himself to it?

"Tony." And finally Steve was looking at him, really looking, bright blue eyes full of concern. "This must be a shock to you. How are you feeling?"

Tony repressed the deep breath he so truly wanted to take at the moment. "I'm fine, Cap. It's a shock, yes, but I'll get over it."

If anything the concern written so clearly on Steve's face grew. "Are you sure? Is there anything I can do to help?"

 _Break up with my dad_ was the thought that came quickly and unbidden to Tony's mind. He wasn't so heartless, however, to actually say it. "No. Just give me some time so that I can get over the initial shock."

Steve nodded. He walked forward, put a large hand on Tony's shoulder, and squeezed. "I'm here whenever you need me, Tony."

"I know," Tony said, and he did. In his darker moments, when he was surrounded by girls and classmates and feeling so alone because he knew exactly why they bothered to befriend him, he always thought of Steve. And then he wouldn't feel quite so alone anymore. "Thanks, Steve, but I think I'd like to be by myself right now."

Steve's hand dropped from Tony's shoulder. "Alright, Tony. I'll see you in the morning."

After Steve left Tony sunk even further down in the chair as he tried not to think of all the real reasons he felt so hurt. There was a tiny fluttering of what could only be jealousy in his chest, a little weed of a thing trying to bloom. Tony threw some dirt on it and buried it deep, down inside him. If Steve was happy with his father, then he would do his best to be happy for Steve.

~*~

The next morning, Tony found himself sitting with both Steve and his father in the breakfast nook adjoining the kitchen. It was a rare occasion; no, on second thought, it was a previously non-existent one. He didn't remember eating breakfast with his father even once, although he thought it surely must have happened when he was a small child, and he concluded that this was Steve's influence. Some farce of a family meal, Steve cooking his impossibly bland version of scrambled eggs and bacon and generally playing some military version of a mother hen. 

It was awkward, to say the least, and from the rigid set of Howard's shoulders Tony assumed his father felt the same. Howard was content to focus on the open newspaper in his hands, not even sparing a glance at Tony. Although that really wasn't so much different than their normal day to day interactions. Normalcy was interrupted by the clearing of Steve's throat and a pointed glare sent Howard's way. Howard ignored it. Steve cleared his throat thrice more, the last time accompanied by an elbow digging into Howard's side, and that at least forced Howard's eyes off the newspaper. Howard narrowed his eyes at Steve before turning to Tony.

"My personal life is my own," he said. "I expect that you won't treat Steve any differently than you have been."

Steve's lips twisted downward into a disappointed frown. Apparently that hadn't been what he had expected, and it was easy enough to guess that he had hoped for some open, bonding dialog between father and son. Steve opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by the familiar ring of Howard's phone. And of course Howard would answer it. Of course he would walk away from the heavy table with ease, shuttering off to the quiet of his study, leaving Steve to frown at Tony and Tony to frown down at his eggs.

"He's happy that you finally know," Steve said.

Tony shoved some more eggs into his mouth and swallowed. It gave him the time to think of a proper response. "He's made you a bit of a liar, did you know that, Steve?"

Steve only shifted, uncomfortable and embarrassed, at the statement. They ate the rest of breakfast in silence before Steve excused himself to go find Howard. As the door swung shut behind him, Tony let out a breath of relief. He was fairly certain he would be left alone the rest of the day. His father would be conducting business until the charity event he had to attend this evening. Steve would, no doubt, be tagging along and looking for spare moments to try to convince Howard to talk to his son. Which meant that Tony was free to enjoy the pool and a good book before leaving on a private plane late that evening, off to warmer and more inviting places.

The day passed as Tony expected. A swim, a nap, a few articles in the latest journal that IEEE had published. It wasn't until evening when a hiccup made its way to Tony's plan, in the form of an unexpected knock on his door as he was packing. He knew it wasn't his father; at this time, the man had no doubt already left for his fundraising party. It might have been Steve, but as Tony thought it another voice cut through the wooden door.

"Sir," Jarvis said, his tone oddly hesitant, "your presence is needed in the kitchen."

Tony's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "If you're trying to get me to eat, Jarvis, there's no need to concern yourself. I grabbed a sandwich earlier."

"Sir. Regardless, your presence is still necessary."

Jarvis' voice was quieter, more subdued, more serious. Tony felt a coldness run through his body, a feeling that only intensified when he opened the door to find Jarvis staring down at some fixed point on the wood panel door. Those brown eyes looked up at him and the pupils seemed to almost shake. Jarvis looked like he wanted to reach out and touch him, to place a hand on his shoulder, and Tony felt his stomach sinking.

"Alright," Tony said, surprised at how quiet his voice came out. "I'll come."

The walk seemed even longer than usual as they were walking it, loud footsteps even louder in the quiet halls, but once they were at the kitchen door the time seemed to have past in no time at all. Tony lifted his hand to the rich mahogany and pushed. 

Steve. Steve's silhouette, hunched over in a wooden chair, dark in the shadows of the large space. A telephone in his hands but he could have been a mannequin with how still he was. Tony stepped forward. Steve looked up. Blue eyes that seemed closed off, and then his lips were moving.

"Tony." His voice cracked on Tony's name, just a little, and he took a long moment before speaking again. "There's been a car accident."

~*~

The funeral was on Friday. It had rained frightfully all night before but it was clear and sunny now, sparing mourners the inconvenience of water-logged shoes and wind-tangled hair. There had been doubts as to whether the burial would have gone as planned; the torrent of water meant the newly dug graves were in danger of collapsing, and it was only just now that the cement lining was being lowered into his father's plot. As Tony stood at the front of the crowd, watching the large construction vehicle beep and whirl as it lowered the huge, grey box, he thought that this wasn't what he expected his father's funeral to be like. For so many reasons.

After most everyone had left and the last few piles of dirt were being dropped into place, Tony felt a slim arm wrap around his shoulders. The smell of rose, jasmine, and powder was a familiar one, and he turned toward it and wrapped his arms around his mother's body as he started to shake.

"Baby Boy," she said, voice small and sad as she brushed a hand repeatedly through his hair, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tony."

He cried into the front of her blazer as she held him, the first time since Steve had told him, quiet sobs wrecking through his body like long, shuddering things. This wasn't in their plans. Howard's plans. Tony's plans. This hadn't been allocated for at all.

Tony wasn't sure how long he stood there, crying in his mother's arms, but eventually he ran out of tears. Someone led him into the soft leather confines of a waiting town car, and he was only vaguely aware of Steve's arm over his shoulder, propping him up, as Tony let himself drift off to sleep for the first time in days.

When Tony woke up it was past midnight. Somebody had placed him in his bed and tucked him in; considering how tightly his comforter held him to his mattress, he could only assume that somebody had been Steve. He pulled the heavy blanket away and sat up. He didn't feel like going back to sleep.

What was supposed to be a walk to the library ended up, surprisingly or not, in his father's private study. Tony sunk down into the large chair behind the desk. The room smelled of leather and cigar smoke, smells that had clung to Howard like a second skin, and it was so easy to imagine Howard coming in right now to admonish Tony for going through his things. But not now. Not ever again.

Someone had already started to go through and clean Howard's desk, if the boxes neatly stacked on top of it were any indication. Maybe it was someone from the company, maybe it was Jarvis. Tony supposed it hardly mattered. There was, however, one box that caught his attention, marked in neat print with the name "Anthony Stark."

Tony's stomach dropped to think of what might be in that box. Expense reports, business documents, required reading for getting up to speed on company business. He pushed down the panic that flared in his chest at the notion that he would have to take over the family company. His hands reached out, shaking just a little bit as they traced the lid, and he wondered if he could just burn the thing and run off to French Polynesia.

But then he wouldn't be Anthony Stark. With a sigh Tony lifted the lid, knowing full well he would never turn his back on his father's legacy. He would make his father proud, no matter that Howard wasn't around to see it, no matter that Howard never expected it from him.

And then Tony froze. His eyes stung a little bit, but he knew that there was nothing left to cry out. Instead, he moved his strangely still fingers over the contents of the box. Photos of him as a toddler, sitting on his father's shoulder, on his mother's lap, and why did he not have any memories of those moments? Photos of him receiving trophies for science fairs and competitions. Articles cut out from MIT's student newspaper heralding Tony's accomplishments: published research papers and international competition awards.

Tony rubbed at his eyes; maybe he had more tears left after all.

"He was always talking about you." It was Steve's voice, of course, and Tony looked up to see the man standing in the doorway, bags underneath his eyes from his own lack of sleep. "About your accomplishments, about your potential. He was so proud of you."

"Why didn't he ever say so to me directly?" Not one word of praise in all of Tony's seventeen years of life. Not one hint that he had even so much as liked Tony.

Steve could only shrug. "I don't know, but he loved you, Tony."

Tony took a deep, shuddering breath. "I know. Dad, Mom, they loved me the best they could. It's not their fault their best just wasn't very good."

He wasn't even trying to stop them anymore. The tears flowed freely down Tony's face, but he was careful not to let them smudge the photographs he now held in his hands. He didn't know what else to say. Maybe there was nothing left to say. He listened to Steve's footsteps as they came closer, then leaned into the arm that wrapped around his shoulder. He didn't cling to Steve the way he had clung to his mother. He just let himself sink into the other man's presence, into his warmth. And when Steve's soft, soothing voice started to recite a familiar poem, Tony listened and took comfort in every line and every word, echoing through a room that seemed emptier than he had ever thought possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem interspersed in the beginning of this fic is Invictus by William Ernst Henley.

_Out of the night that covers me,  
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,_

It hurt. It hurt in a way that made Tony's body shake, that made it curl up into itself, and he couldn't even control it. He couldn't reach out his hand, couldn't even open his eyes, not when it hurt so much just doing nothing.

_I thank whatever gods may be  
For my unconquerable soul._

Death, maybe. It was quite possible he was dying. The last thing he remembered. . . an explosion. A humvee flying into the air as easily as a plastic toy. Silence, then blinding white, then the deepest, darkest black.

_In the fell clutch of circumstance  
I have not winced nor cried aloud._

Hands over his body. Rough. Big. Carrying him, positioning him. Voices all around him. Harsh and incomprehensible.

_Under the bludgeonings of chance  
My head is bloody, but unbowed._

Anthony E. Stark woke up. Blackness was replaced with more blackness, only this blackness was different. With a network of shadows like broken lace and a texture like hardness. Surrounding and closing in on him. The pain was there, throbbing and all-encompassing, centered at a point in his chest. At his heart. He looked down and shuddered through the nausea that arrived with the sight of two metal cables jutting out of raw, bloody holes in his chest. Cables that ran to a blocky, cumbersome battery.

There was a man nearby. Slim and insubstantial in the barely there lighting of this closed off space.

"What did you do to me?"

Brown eyes flickered up over thin lenses. "Mr. Stark, I saved your life."

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
Looms but the Horror of the shade,_

Water filled his lungs. Hands held him down. And his body spasmed, jerked, in ways he wasn't even telling it to, frantic in its need to stop this awful flood where there should only have been air. And just when it stilled, just when it accepted its fate, they would pull him back up for enough time to cough and vomit up all that water. And then they would push him down all over again.

And after this torture ended, after he agreed to and finished building that missile that they wanted, he knew what was waiting. A bullet through his half-broken heart. 

_And yet the menace of the years  
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid._

His chest throbbed. In his darker moments he thought that he could feel them, could feel the metal slivers closing in, making their way through veins and tissue. They would cut him up before they even reached his heart. He would die before they even pierced its surface. In this dark prison of stone and sand sleep was hard to come by, and Tony could spend all night tracing the newly-built device that kept him alive, going over blueprints for his suit in his head. He didn't know that he was doing anything reasonable or sane, but he knew that it was the only chance he had. He would escape or he would die here, and that's just the way it was.

_It matters not how strait the gate,  
How charged with punishments the scroll._

Yinsen was dead. Yinsen was dead and Tony made it far enough to fall over, still in his suit, on the unforgiving sand. He wanted to collapse in a million different ways, but he stayed lucid enough to fire a flare toward the sound of what must have been a helicopter. Then he passed out.

_I am the master of my fate:  
I am the captain of my soul._

~*~

Anthony E. Stark woke up. Blackness was replaced with a light kind of beige, and he realized that he was staring up into the ceiling of his father's mansion. It had been so long since he had been here. Years, really. He briefly wondered why he was here now, but then the door was opening and he turned his head to see Pepper run a few steps in. She quickly slowed to her usual walk and her expression, which had initially looked on the verge of tears, schooled itself into its usual polite smile. She stopped at the side of his bed and smoothed out non-existent wrinkles in her skirt.

"Mr. Stark," she said, and her voice had never been so warm, "welcome home."

Tony almost laughed. Instead, he sunk even deeper into his pillows and let his lips drift into a lazy smile. "It's good to be home, Ms. Potts."

"Pepper, I told you, you're not allowed in there yet!" The low timber was followed by a handsome man in a military uniform, its creases pressed to perfection.

Tony's smile stretched into a grin. "Rhodey. You're a sight for sore eyes."

"Wish I could say the same. You look like shit, Tony."

The two men laughed as they grabbed each other's forearms for a moment. Then Rhodey backed away and stood ramrod straight, as he was wont to do, near the side of the bed.

"What am I doing here?" Tony asked. He remembered some glimpses of a military hospital, but he hadn't exactly been conscious enough to be aware of what was going on. And then he had been mostly drugged.

"Captain's orders," Rhodey replied. "After Rogers found out we had recovered you, he insisted that we transport you to more comfortable, familiar quarters. And since we didn't want press camped out outside, we picked this place over your fancy midtown penthouse."

Tony couldn't help but be a bit disappointed. That penthouse felt much more like home to him that this place ever had, but he couldn't exactly refute the logic.

"And speaking of Cap," Rhodey went on, "we really should get our story straight before he gets here. Which should be any minute, considering he only stepped out on an errand I tricked him into."

"You devious man you," Tony said, before taking in the rest of Rhodey's words. "Story?"

A little frown pulled at Rhodey's lips as his eyes flickered over toward Pepper, but Tony put a stop to that right away.

"You know that I'm going to tell her anyway," Tony said. "So we might as well just talk about it with her here."

Rhodey sighed but visibly acquiesced, shoulders relaxing just a bit. "We can get the details later, but for now I'd like for us to come to an understanding about the suit."

Pepper leaned forward just slightly, though no hint of curiosity or confusion appeared on her face. She was good like that.

"Only a handful of people know it was you in that suit, Tony," Rhodey continued. "Really just a few doctors and higher-ups. We'd like to keep it that way."

Tony shrugged. He had only built that thing to get out of an impossible situation. To get _them_ out of an impossible situation, his mind supplied, and something twisted in his chest to know that he had only been half successful. "So bury it. No one knows about the suit, no one knows about me."

"It's not that simple. There are, unfortunately for us, pictures of it. It's already gotten to the press."

And here was Pepper's cue to move, picking up a small stack of newspapers from a desk and walking over to give them to Tony. Rhodey had said 'pictures' but there seemed to be just one, a grainy satellite image of his suit collapsed in the sand. Headlines varied, although they all had one thing in common: they seemed to have been written by people who had no idea what was going on.

_Pentagon Hides Dangerous New Weapon_

_Mechanical Soldier Prototype Rescues Tony Stark_

_Iron Man: The Next Generation Soldier_

"Iron Man," Tony murmured, gears in his head turning. "I like the sound of that."

"You don't even know how many agencies and organizations I have breathing down my neck wanting to know what this thing is," Rhodey went on. "I need you to-"

"You still have the suit?" Tony asked. He wouldn't put it past the military to confiscate it, which would be fine with him. In his head he was already developing improvements and modifications to the original design. In his lab and with his access to materials, it would be so fascinating to see exactly what he could make the suit do.

Rhodey frowned at the interruption but answered Tony's question. "It's in your lab. Tony, you have to publicly admit that this suit is Stark tech to get some heat off the military. And no one can know that you were inside it, it just makes the target on your back bigger."

"Sure," Tony said, nodding. It would also bring up some pretty big liability ramifications for both him and Rhodey. He came up with an idea just then that was equal parts simple and ingenious, if he could say so himself. "I'll just say he's my bodyguard. Any problems there?"

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. "Bodyguard? Doesn't that imply that he'll be making another appearance?"

Silence greeted Rhodey's silence.

"Tony!" It was Pepper who said it, the name coming out like an exasperated sigh.

"What?" Tony asked, making his eyes go big. "You can't expect me to leave this alone. The possibilities, the capabilities this suit could have. The things I could get it to do! Besides, it's just not believable that I would build such a successful tool, one the press knows saved my life mind you, and then just scrap it."

Rhodey sighed and shook his head. "It's not like I'll be able to change your mind anyway."

Tony smiled. "Good Rhodey. And to think some people think you're not too bright."

"Who thinks that?" Rhodey asked, eyes narrowed. But then there was a sound outside in the hallway and all three of them turned toward it, before Rhodey turned back to Tony. "Stick to the official story with Steve."

Tony nodded. The last thing he wanted was Steve acting like some kind of surrogate father with him, for many reasons. Steve would already be concerned enough by the kidnapping and torture without having to add "flying around in an experimental metal suit" to the list. Flying around. Tony quite liked the sound of that as well, and the technical aspects of making it happen started swimming around his head.

The door opened in the middle of one particularly complex equation, and Tony shuttered it to the back of his mind so he could focus on Steve. Steve, whose obvious worry and hope faded to relief as soon as he saw Tony.

"Hey, Cap," Tony said with a small smile.

"Tony." Steve stood there for just a moment before he placed his large hands on Tony's shoulders and squeezed. He smiled down at the bed-ridden man. "Tony, it's so good to see you. You don't know how worried we all were."

Warmth flared up inside Tony's chest. Only to fade as Steve started to fuss over him, asking if he was hungry, if he felt pain anywhere, if he needed anything. When Steve got like this was when Tony disliked him the most. He remembered an argument that happened not so terribly long ago, one that ended with Tony snidely remarking, "You're not my father, even if you were screwing him" and Steve's ashen face.

"For God's sake, I'm fine," Tony said, tone short, and it was enough to get Steve to back away.

There was a long pause. When Steve spoke again, his voice was just a little bit softer, just a little bit unsure. "I was worried."

Silence filled the room as Pepper and Rhodey looked away from Steve and Tony and Steve and Tony looked at the floor. The need to apologize settled somewhere in Tony's body, never making it past his throat. 

_I'm a man,_ he wanted to say. _Not a boy you need to take care of._

"I'm fine," was what he did say, in the softest tone he could manage. "But thank you. For caring."

"Of course, Tony."

When silence settled once again, Pepper took it as another cue. She started to usher both Steve and Rhodey out the door, assuring them that they would have plenty of time with Tony in the coming days but that company business just couldn't wait. And, as much as Tony had ached to see Steve and Rhodey when he was imprisoned, he almost felt relief to see them go. He sunk into his bed and focused on the silence and the lack of other people. Strange how comforting it was when all it should have done was remind him of that dark, cold cave.

"I thought I was going to die," he admitted, his voice small. He hadn't dwelled on it back then, he couldn't afford to. All his energy had been put toward escape. "I was going to die."

And there was something inside him, choking him, suffocating him, until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and Pepper's face in his field of vision. She offered him a small, unsure smile.

"You're alive, Tony."

Tony nodded and felt that awful feeling fade away for now. He was alive. His fingers touched the edge of the arc reactor embedded in his chest. He was alive.

"They'll be suspicious and want to come in again if I leave," Pepper said. She opened the curtains just a smidge, just enough to illuminate an armchair in the corner of the room, and settled within it. "I'll just do some work here while you get some rest. Sound good?"

"Thanks, Pep," Tony said, more grateful to her than she could know. He closed his eyes and drifted off, strangely tired for someone who had been basically asleep for days.

When Tony woke up again he was alone save for the flowers that now filled the room to brimming. And he was sure that these weren't the least of them. Slow fingers moved to reach for the nearest card, attached to a huge arrangement of golden lilies and dewy blue irises on his bedside table.

_It seems you've got me beat when it comes to getting kidnapped by terrorist groups. Well played, old friend. I'll be over to give you my well wishes personally, so please don't selfishly get better before then._

_~Ty_

Tony let out a small laugh as he read the note. Then he tried to remember the last time he had even seen Ty. . . that impromptu midnight car race in Monte Carlo, he supposed. It was a wonder that neither of them had died on those curving oceanfront roads. Although they had nearly been arrested, until some money was thrown around at the right people. Tony supposed that was their relationship in a nutshell, amicable but intense competition spurring them on without thought to anything else.

Tony stumbled out of bed as he chuckled at the memory. More immediate matters called for his attention, however, such as the ridiculous rumbling noise his stomach was producing. His legs were shaky, but he managed to make his way out the door and into the hallway well enough. From there it was just a matter of finding voices to follow. Before he knew it he was in the kitchen, a little shocked to see that Ty had already made his appearance and was sitting at the kitchen island laughing with Steve. They looked almost like brothers with their blond hair, blue eyes, and classically good looks. Before Tony could form any thoughts about that, however, he noticed that heaven was laid out between them in the form of beautiful little blue, white, and orange boxes stacked in a makeshift fort on the granite surface.

"I was planning to hire a chef to cater a proper meal," Pepper said, perched on a stool with her laptop open in front of her, "but Mr. Stone insisted on bringing over White Castle."

"Ty," Tony said, clapping his hands onto Ty's shoulders, "marry me."

Ty laughed as one of his hands reached up to squeeze Tony's wrist in greeting. "I remember being abroad for long lengths of time, although never for such unfortunate reasons. The first thing I would want coming home was a-"

"Good old American cheeseburger," Tony finished. He was already sitting down and pulling a good section of the fort toward himself.

"Rhodey was called back to Washington," Pepper said, informative as ever. "Happy is in a food coma in one of the guest rooms, and your mother will be here tomorrow morning."

That should be fun, Tony thought. She would catch him up on all the latest gossip, and there was always a nugget or two in her stories that he could exploit for business purposes. As he stuffed his face full of sliders that were more delicious than they had any right being, he looked up to see both Ty and Steve staring at him in amusement.

"What?" he mumbled, his face full of food.

"It's just good to have you back," Steve replied, at the same time Ty said, "You look like a squirrel."

Tony swallowed the still rather large chunks of food in his cheeks. "I wasn't expecting you so quickly, Ty."

"I was in New York on business anyway," Ty said. "So when I heard you were well enough to accept visitors, it was only a matter of having my chauffeur drive me over."

"Business in New York?" Tony asked. As far as he knew Ty had been manning his company's operations in Europe for the last few years, hence the reason they barely ever saw each other.

Ty shrugged. "Apparently the old man wants me back home for awhile. Something about new media ventures. But that's all boring business stuff, I'd much rather hear about your escape from Afghanistan."

"He's just now woken up," Steve interrupted, frowning at Ty. "And Afghanistan wasn't exactly a good experience. Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it."

"I think Tony can decide that for himself," Tyr replied. "If he doesn't want to talk about it he can just blow me off like he usually does."

"And here I thought I was always subtle about it," Tony teased.

"Oh, you're never quite as clever as you give yourself credit for."

The three of them talked about inconsequential things for several minutes more, Pepper providing a quiet but comfortable presence to the side. Once Tony finished eating, however, he was quick to excuse himself. He was still so tired, physically and emotionally, drained and wondering when his energy was going to come back to him. He had barely gotten back into bed when there was a knock on his door, and he sighed even as he went to answer it. He knew it wasn't Pepper or Steve, both of whom knew him well enough to allow him some peace and quiet right now. Which left only one real option.

"Ty," he said, "I'm not really in the mood."

But Ty was holding a bottle of very fine Scotch and wearing his most charming smile. "I'll be caught up in meetings all week, Tony. It's cruel of you to deprive me of your company tonight."

"Fine. Just. . . don't expect any witty banter from me today."

"Of course. Whatever you need, Tony."

They settled in Tony's bed just as easily as if they were still fourteen and seventeen again, on vacation from boarding school and relaxing after a day soaking in the sun. The bed seemed much smaller for a moment, at least until Tony remembered that they were much bigger. It was strange how familiar it felt even after all these years. His head almost on Ty's arm, Ty's body heat so close beside him, Ty slipping an ice cold glass into his hand.

"It's been a long time since I've been in this room," Ty said.

"You and me both," Tony replied. "Until today, I haven't stepped into this house in years."

"And yet you still keep it," Ty said, the tail-end of the sentence muffled as he raised his glass to his lips.

"I suppose there are still memories here I don't want to sell off." Just a few. His mother fawning over him when he was still young enough to be adorable. His father, just once, patting him on the head for something he couldn't even remember now. And Steve.

"Hmm. I have a few fond memories of my own in this house."

It was said in an almost lascivious tone, and even that somehow felt comfortable and familiar. It called to mind those lazy summer days of so long ago, when they had been young and stupid. When their minds and bodies had been almost wholly occupied by new, baser urges, urges they weren't above indulging. Tony could still remember the scent of chlorine that would linger on their skin after racing in the pool all day. The too cold air-conditioning. The soft sheets as their bodies moved and twisted over them, hands fumbling in clumsy but most enjoyable ways.

Tony smiled as he reached upward, fingers lightly stroking the short hairs on Ty's forearm. "I'm too tired."

"Of course, of course." Fingers wrapped around Tony's wrist and gently pulled it upward, where a tongue slid, long and slow, over the skin there. "That's why all you have to do is lay there while I do all the work."

Tony almost laughed. It was true that physical activity of the amorous variety was one of his favored ways of dealing with stress, nerves, or any other human emotion. And Ty was a tempting partner. The bed shifted, a little, body heat coming closer to him, and then lips pressed against his temple before ghosting over his ear.

"Let me fuck you."

It was hot, wet murmur, one Tony could feel against the sensitive skin of his inner ear. It sent a small shiver through his body.

"Let me blow you."

Even more of a whisper this time. Tony leaned into it, opened his mouth to respond, when-

"At the very least, let me jerk you off."

Another shiver through his body. "No, no, go back one. I quite liked the middle option."

"Oh, do you?" Ty gave a small, teasing laugh before pressing another kiss to Tony's temple. Then one to his jaw. Then one to his lips, one that lingered and turned into a rather languid exploration of each other's mouths.

And wasn't this pleasant, thought Tony. Ty was hot and familiar but oh so much more muscular than he had been when they had done this before. To melt into the other men, to lose himself in thoughtless pleasure, was exactly what Tony wanted right now. And he hadn't even realized it.

Ty broke away, until their faces were several inches apart. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Classic good looks. Tony tried not to think so deeply about his physical attraction to Ty and told himself he just happened to have a type when it came to men. Somehow Ty had maneuvered himself over Tony's body during their kissing, and now he lowered himself down it as Tony sunk back onto his forearms.

Tony was already hard. He could feel it in the way his cock was pressed against the confines of his sweatpants. He could see it in the clear outline pressed that grey fabric. Ty had noticed, as well, evident in the smile on his face as he eyed the bulge. His hand ran along it, once, before he tucked his fingers into the waistband and pulled down.

And there it was. Tony's cock, hard and long, jutting up from a nest of black hair and leaking just a drop of pre-cum.

"Oh, hello," Ty said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Tony's cock and they both watched it twitch it response. "Still as gorgeous as ever."

"Please don't talk to my dick like that," Tony mumbled.

Ty only gave Tony a lopsided smile before wrapping his lips around the head of Tony's cock and swirling his tongue around it. And wasn't that a sight to see. Tony wanted to make some smart comment about how Ty was much more attractive with his mouth full of cock, but instead he bit his lip and tangled a hand in Ty's hair. He didn't want to be teased today, he just wanted to come, and his hand gently pushed down on Ty's head with that goal in mind. Ty took the hint easily enough. Soon he was bobbing up and down on Tony's cock, the whole length of it disappearing into his mouth every time. He kept his hands occupied as well, one of them reaching between body and mattress to grab Tony's ass and the other one fondling his balls.

Tony tangled his other hand in Ty's hair as well. He held Ty's head still, in a grip hard enough for Ty to get the hint, and then he started to move his hips. Up and down in short violent thrusts, and at first Ty gagged but he got used to it easily enough, got used to Tony's cock fucking his throat. Tony was already getting close when he felt a finger nudge at his hole, when he felt it slip inside, and then Ty was fucking his hole while he was fucking Ty's mouth. When his orgasm came it was a consuming, shuddering thing, leaving him breathless for long enough that his vision went black for a second.

When Tony came to, Ty was slotting against his side and wrapping an arm around his waist. His dick was half hard against Tony's hip, and Tony would have offered to lend a hand, so to speak, except that he really did feel dreadfully tired. Maybe in the morning he could get another look at Ty's thick, curved cock and actually do something about it. For now, though, he just intertwined his fingers with Ty's and made himself comfortable in the position they had found themselves in.

"You've certainly improved in technique over the years," Tony murmured.

Ty chuckled. It was the kind of laugh that reverberated through his chest, that Tony could feel on his side. "I'm not the only one. What happened to shy, hesitant Tony?"

"Hmm. If you remember, he had disappeared by our fourth tryst."

Another laugh, warm and solid. "So he did."

The fingers holding his squeezed slightly. A kiss was placed against the corner of the lips. There were words that sounded something like " _Go to sleep, Tony_ ," but Tony's eyes were already closing.

That night Tony's dreams were a mesh of colors and nonsense, scenes he wouldn't remember upon waking. All except the last. Yinsen's eyes, the life draining out of them and the pupils growing, until they were blank and black and accusing. Tony sprung up in bed, awake and breathing heavily, one hand pressed against the heat of his arc reactor.

Calm down, calm down. Yinsen faded and Tony was left in the opulent comfort of his bedroom, amidst pristine cotton sheets and antique furniture. His entire being relaxed as he remembered that he was home. Everything was fine, save for some vague sense of guilt left in his depths of his heart. Tony looked around. Ty was gone, but there was a note on the pillow where his head had been.

_An early morning meeting calls, but I had a wonderful evening. We must do this again. Yours Truly, Ty_

Tony smiled and stretched. It would be good, he thought, to have Ty back in town. He got up and dressed in whatever pieces of clothing he could find about. Then he went downstairs, going outside to get a few breaths of fresh air before his cappuccino machine called.

Tony looked out over the meandering driveway and the emerald green lawns. The town car sat at the portion of the driveway closest to the house, Pepper and Happy standing next to it and laughing, and he imagined that Happy would soon be off to pick up Maria from the airport. He watched as Pepper tilted her head and looked up from beneath lowered lashes, as Happy leaned forward-

"Tony!"

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. As Pepper and Happy disappeared Steve took their place, his blue eyes worried but looking past Tony toward the car. Tony could see what was happening though, despite Steve's attempt to shield him from the scene. Their reflection was clear in one of the dark mansion windows.

"It's fine," Tony said, as Pepper and Happy parted from their goodbye kiss and Happy got into the car. "They've been together for months now."

"Oh." Steve's frown grew deeper. "I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony shrugged. It had stung for months when Pepper had chosen Happy over him, but now that felt like a lifetime ago. So much so that it felt strange for Steve to even bring it up. _You're not really in love with me,_ Pepper had said, and to Tony it had sounded like _you're not capable of making me happy_. She was most likely right on both counts.

"And here I thought you two might end up together," Steve continued.

"You like her, huh?" Tony asked. And of course Steve would. Pepper was no-nonsense, competent, and kept Tony on track.

"I like her with you," Steve replied. "And I like you in relationships."

As opposed to single and losing himself in one-night encounters when he wasn't working himself to death. Tony smiled, but there was a tightness to it. There was a tightness in his chest as well, but he told himself that it was the arc reactor. It was easy enough to ignore. And then Steve was slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him inside.

"Come on," Steve said, "I'll make you some eggs for breakfast."


	4. Chapter 4

Tony held no small amount of distaste for parties. It was a hate no doubt born of a childhood where he had been forced to attend them on a regular basis. Even now, he spent as little time at large social functions as possible. He tended to show up for just long enough to keep in the good graces of anyone worth being on decent terms with. He treated it as part of work, and work was something he could do, something he enjoyed if only because he was so good at it, whether he was designing something in his lab or negotiating multi-million dollar deals in boardrooms. On this particular night he had been forced to attend a party simply because it was Ty throwing it, and he couldn't very well say no to Ty. So he had spent a little time pretending not to hate Sebastian Shaw, even less time not even bothering to hide his contempt of Norman Osborn, and a substantial period letting Ty sequester him in a closet.

After that it was stop at his penthouse apartment, where he took his Iron Man suit and flew. And even after years of doing this, years of being Iron Man, getting into that suit and taking off was just as exciting as the first time. Manhattan laid out below him in a grid of lights, pulsing with a life force all its own. He could almost feel it the rhythm of it running through his suit. This particular flight didn't take that long, though. The journey from his midtown apartment to his father's mansion just outside the island was rather short even without the aid of a high-tech flying suit of armor.

As he sped toward the large stone manor, Tony's vision targeted on a lone figure sitting on a relatively flat portion of the red-tiled roof. He zoomed in, figures and specs running along his field of vision. Before his eyesight could make out who it was, a name appeared: Steve Rogers. Tony couldn't help but smile as he glided down to where Steve was sitting, as he cut his thrusters and landed with a loud thud that blew off some of the tiles.

"Steve," Tony said, his voice a low metallic hum. "I take it your presence is good news?"

Steve, who had been sketching the perfectly manicured gardens from his perch on the roof, turned toward Tony with an easy smile. "The boys at the pentagon were happy to let me go. In fact, a lot of the higher-ups insisted. They think it's a good idea to have me here watching over your little group and liaising with them."

"Of course." Tony had expected no less. The military would be keen to have a loyal member on the already well-publicized Avengers. It worked out for Tony as well; Steve's presence on the team would give them a credibility they wouldn't have otherwise, and would make things a lot easier when dealing with the inevitable red tape of Washington.

All this, for bad or good, had been set into motion weeks ago. Loki had concocted some unnecessarily convoluted ploy to obtain his brother's attention, a bevy of superheros had shown up instead, and after Loki's defeat they had come to the decision that working as a team might have some benefits. Tony Stark, taking an interest as Iron Man's employer, had graciously volunteered his parents' old mansion to be used as a base, and had even offered to fund the expenditure. He had spent the last few weeks getting the mansion ready. Building labs for Bruce and Hank, hiring cleaners to dust out all the old rooms, picking out some more modern pieces for the decor. Jarvis had earned a well-deserved retirement in the English countryside years ago but Tony had installed J.A.R.V.I.S. in the walls here, and the A.I. had taken to the setting just as easily as his namesake.

"Thanks for joining the cause," Tony went on.

"Don't thank me," Steve replied with a shrug. "Thank your boss for convincing me to join."

Equations ran past Tony's screen, fast enough that even he had to concentrate to keep up. Analyzing to ability off the roof to take his shifting weight. They came back positive, mirroring the equations in Tony's own mind, and cumbersome movements found Tony taking a careful seat by Steve's side.

Steve had gone back to his sketching. The slender charcoal pencil looked almost comical in his large hand, like it might break in half or fall out at any given moment, but there was no clumsiness to the picture that blossomed on the previously blank page. A landscape of thick outlines and bold strokes, looking more solid than the moonlit gardens laid out before them. Steve himself was only half-concentrating on the task at the moment, the other half waiting on Tony.

"Have you moved in?" Tony asked. He knew that Bruce had already been settled in, had seen to the precautions that were necessary in housing a man likely to turn into a rampaging beast at any given moment. Ant-man and the Wasp would be there by the end of the week. So that only left Steve and Iron Man, although Tony already knew that the latter would only be spending a nominal amount of time at the mansion. His round the clock job as Tony Stark's bodyguard gave him excuse enough to be away.

"I've picked out a room," Steve answered. "But for all the time I've spent in this house, it feels odd to be living here."

"Too many ghosts?" Tony said it before he even thought about it. Just a flippant question, born of the fact that the estate was old and large, with creeping shadows and dark spaces enough to lend imagination to even the most cynical of disbelievers. But as he spoke the words out loud meaning and context shaped them, turned them into a heavy lump at the pit of the stomach.

Steve had mostly frozen in place. The breeze blew short blond hairs into a face that really hadn't seemed to age since he had been unfrozen, and Tony wondered if the effects of ice and super serum had contrived to alter Steve's aging process permanently. Eventually, though, Steve was moving again, blue eyes casting downward and wrist flicking over paper.

"No," Steve said. "Just one."

"Do you miss him?" It was a question that Tony Stark never would have asked. Tony never would have asked because Steve would just have wrapped an arm around his shoulder, smiled softly, and said something like _'don't worry about it'_ or _'I'm just glad I still have you.'_ But Iron Man could ask. Over the years Steve had opened up to Iron Man in a way he never had to Tony, an unexpected event that had left Tony feeling both thankful and bereft.

"As much as I've missed anyone I've lost," Steve said, which meant he must have missed him a great deal. There was something else, though. A tightness in the creases around Steve's eyes. A hesitance in the way he was now shaping the foliage in his journal.

"I don't mind," Tony said, "if you want to talk to me about Howard."

"There's nothing much to say." But Steve had stilled once again, eyes taking on a distant gaze as he stared off into the horizon.

"It's fine," Tony said. "I don't mind if you don't want to talk about him either."

For some time the two men just sat together. Tony usually enjoyed these quiet moments with Steve. Even if they weren't talking to one another, even if they weren't actively doing anything, it was pleasant just to be at the other man's side. He particularly liked to watch Steve draw, to see the focus in his eyes and watch the deft movements of his wrist. Only now those eyes were staring into space and that wrist was still.

"Steve?" Tony asked. "Are you okay?"

Steve's hand dropped into his lap as his lashes fell low over his eyes. "It's just that this household reminds me so much of Howard. There are so many memories here I'd rather forget."

Tony's disbelieving laugh sounded like the hum of a car engine when it filtered back through his auditory sensors. "Don't you mean fond memories that nonetheless hurt to remember?"

"There are those," Steve admitted, his voice a little too steady. "But we fought a lot in this house. We fought about how much alcohol he drank. We fought about the way he treated his son."

There was a lump in Tony's throat, but he swallowed it to press on. And as hollow as his voice sounded in the confines of his helmet, Iron Man's timber was as solid as ever. "You mean Mr. Stark?"

Steve nodded. His eyes seemed even more distant now. "The day Howard died, we had spent all day arguing about Tony. I didn't understand why he was so distant with his son. Tough love, he called it, but it seemed like such a cold and broken thing to me. I was so angry. I had always been upset over their lack of a relationship, and that day it just all came to a head."

And the next thing Steve confessed broke Tony's heart a little bit more, if only because he knew how Steve must have carried the weight of it on his shoulders for so long.

"We fought. He made to leave the room, but I couldn't help but get the last word in. I told him that he wasn't even half the man I had known during the war. It was the last thing I would ever say to him."

Steve's voice was as solid and steady as ever, only one small crack toward the end of his sentence speaking to any emotional turmoil. But Tony could see it. He could see the guilt and the regret, glistening in unshed tears that a military man like Steve Rogers would never let fall.

"And the look on his face," Steve went on, so quiet that Tony could barely hear him. "The hurt was bad enough, but the resignation was worse. As though he completely agreed with me. I wanted to take back my words, to apologize, but in that moment I was too stubborn, and then. . . and then he was gone."

Tony had never known. Steve had never told him. Tony ignored the ache rising with the admittance; instead, he placed a hand on Steve's shoulder and left it there until the heaviness of the moment seemed to ebb and flow away. For a few moments they were in their own small little world, a world of grief and remembrance. But eventually it faded and they were left on a red-tiled roof in the midst of rolling lawns and gardens. Steve looked up and gave Tony a small little smile.

"Thank you, Iron Man."

"Any time, Cap."

Some excuse was mumbled and Tony left Steve on the rooftop by himself. His intent with this little trip had been to check up on Bruce and run some tests on J.A.R.V.I.S., but for now he just made his way to the room designated as Iron Man's. As soon as the door shut and locked (an automatic response he had programmed in as a precaution, even though he was sure that he would never forget to lock the door) Tony was removing his helmet and stepping out of his suit. Then he was sinking into the mattress and letting his conversation with Steve just wash over him.

He could imagine the scene in his mind. The stubborn set Steve's jaw would have as he hounded Howard to be a more decent father. Howard's fingers reaching toward a bottle of liquor as he used his other hand to brush him off. And Howard's face when Steve finally got angry enough to say the words he would forever wish he could take back. That detail Tony could imagine in perfect clarity. He could imagine it because he could imagine his own face being a mirror reflection of it, if Steve ever said anything like that to him. 

End scene. The actors in Tony's mind exited stage left and right, and he was left with an image of his father's too large study, as empty as the rest of the mansion. And Little Tony off-stage in his bedroom packing. Oblivious to everything, a state in which he was to remain until Steve decided to open up his heart to Iron Man.

Tony draped his arm over his eyes and, not even bothering to get out of his under suit, let himself drift off to sleep.

He woke up before dawn the next day. Ran his checks in J.A.R.V.I.S. Made sure Bruce Banner was still Bruce Banner. And then he was off, waving to a returning Steve as the other man's morning run took him back to the mansion. He had enough time to notice the disappointment on Steve's features before he was clear of the property boundaries completely. Soon after he was landing on the large, reinforced balcony outside his office, not surprised to see Pepper already inside.

"Shutters," he said as he stepped inside. There was an audible ripple as all the exterior glass darkened and the interior lights came on, allowing Tony the privacy of removing his suit out of prying eyes. He was half-Tony, half-Iron Man when Pepper handed him a mug of hot coffee.

"Good morning, Tony," she said. There was no trace of a smile on her face, which meant that there was some serious bit of business to get to.

Tony took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the coffee in his hands before getting down to it. "Morning, Pepper. What disaster are we saving the company from today?"

"You can see for yourself," Pepper said. A few voice commands and the television was flickering on and playing a previously recorded news program.

"For years Iron Man has taken justice into his own hands, fighting and capturing criminals that proved too strong for regular police and government forces," said the anchorman behind the desk, face serious and devoid of emotion. "But has he gone too far? A disturbing video released on the internet has people clamoring that yes, he has."

There was a smooth transition from the anchorman's overly made-up face to a grainy video of a red and gold figure. Tony's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. Iron Man. Iron Man was standing above the prone figure of Whiplash, the latter's voice almost too clear as he pled for his life. _Please,_ he was crying, _please don't do this. I have a son._ And with almost every word Iron Man's fist embedded itself into Whiplash's body suit, creating an ugly cacophony of noise as hard metal collided with steel mesh. Eventually Whiplash went still, went quiet, his torso mangled to the point where it was past being recognizably human.

"It wasn't me," Tony murmured. He hadn't even seen Whiplash in years. To be honest, he had thought the criminal had retired for good. "I would never."

"Some people on the internet are already denouncing it as a fake," Pepper said. "Play the CNN interview with Senator Tilly."

The television cut to a different scene. Just a typical split screen interview, anchorwoman on one side and stern politician on the other.

"What we're dealing with is a lack of transparency, a lack of accountability," the Senator said. "The only person Iron Man answers to is Tony Stark, and Stark won't even provide the people in charge with a name. Stark himself is notoriously unstable, plus he hasn't been what most people would call an ethical person. For all we know he could have sent his little bodyguard to kill Whiplash because he was working for a business competitor. Stark-"

"Stop," Pepper said, and the frame froze on a particularly snarled, vicious expression from the Senator. "From there it turns into a character assassination. I'm sure you already know everything he can bring up."

"Stocks?" Tony asked.

"A minimal drop."

"Business dealings?"

"I doubt we'll get any new contracts anytime soon because of this fiasco," Pepper said. "Anything we had in negotiation has been put on hold."

"Which means it's just a matter of time before we lose them," Tony said. Unless he worked quickly. "Get public relations to work on a press release-"

"Already done and approved by legal," Pepper said. "It's on your computer waiting for your approval."

Tony knew that hiring Pepper was one of the smarter choices he'd ever made. He would change the release to his liking and send it off before dealing with the repercussions. But there was something still bothering him. There was a connection between these two programs, and Tony's stomach sank as he realized what it was. Both programs were produced by Ty's media group. As realization dawned on his face, Pepper took that as her cue to nod and press on.

"Did Mr. Stone say anything about this to you when he saw you yesterday?"

"Nothing," Tony replied. He was already dialing the numbers on his phone.

Ty picked up his phone on the third ring, a half-asleep quality still found in the drawl of his words. "Tony. You left early last night."

"Ty. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Tony's sharp tone was the most likely cause of the silence that followed. When Ty did ultimately speak, there was a surprised, confused quality to it that threw Tony a little bit.

"What do you mean?" Ty asked.

"Your news reports. Slandering my business. Implicating me in murder."

"What?" Ty did sound genuinely shocked. "Tony, what are you talking about?"

"Your news programs, Ty!" Tony stopped for a moment to take a deep breath. "First they broadcast a video of my bodyguard committing what looks like murder. A video I know for a fact is fake, mind you. And then they put people on saying it was probably under my orders and that I'm unstable-"

"Tony, Tony, calm down. I know I own a few channels, but I hardly decide what goes on air. I pay people to do that all for me. If they said anything truly egregious, then I'll have them issue a retractment, but I don't approve or censor anything that goes on air."

"You're right," Tony said, ignoring the way Pepper raised an eyebrow at the remark. She was on the phone herself and no doubt dealing with fallout from the news report. "I'm sorry, I'm a little on edge right now."

"Don't be, Tony. These sound like serious allegations. I'll look into this video and see what I can find out about it."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate it."

"I'll call you as soon as I find anything out."

As Tony hung up, Pepper put her own call on hold.

"What did Mr. Stone say?" she asked.

"He didn't know anything about it and he's looking into the video." Tony got behind his desk and made himself comfortable; there was no doubt in his mind that this would be anything other than a long day at the office. And that was the best case scenario. "Who are you are the phone with?"

"Law enforcement. They have some questions about Mark Scarlotti's disappearance and possible death."

"Of course." A rather flat and distant version of the Star-Spangled Banner cut through the air, and Tony held his phone to his ear without even looking at the screen. "Steve. I'm afraid I'll have to cancel lunch today."

"Tony." A little stern, a little reproachful. "This is no time to be cavalier. Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine. Really, this isn't even the worst I've dealt with."

"They're saying awful things about you on the television right now," Steve went on. "About you and Iron Man. I hope you've been talking with your lawyers, because the lies and half-truths they've been spouting are obscene."

Tony had to smile a little at Steve's unshakeable faith in him. "I know, Steve, but it happens. I'll deal with it."

"Is there something I can do?"

"No, the last thing I want is you riding in on a white horse to rescue me. Besides, I don't think even you can do that-" And then Tony noticed that Pepper was waving a hand back and forth almost frantically, trying to get his attention.

"We can use him," she whispered, one hand over the receiver of her phone. "Ask him if he's willing to publicly stand up for you. On a television program, maybe."

"Actually," Tony said to Steve, "maybe you can do something. I'll have Pepper call you with the details in a little bit, is that alright?"

"Of course, Tony. Take care."

Tony and Pepper hung up their phones at roughly the same time and turned to each other.

"You'll need to call Steve and figure things out with him," Tony said.

Pepper nodded. "You have an appointment with a detective from the police force at two today. Obviously, we're cooperating in any way we can."

"Get our experts to look at that video inside and out," Tony went on. As Pepper turned back to her phone, he reached for the headset connected to his office line; he had a lot of smoothing over and reassuring to do.

By the time two o'clock rolled around, Tony felt as though he had been working for two days straight. It was, unfortunately, not a foreign feeling, although that also meant it was something he was used to dealing with. So it was easy for him to paste on a smile and turn his charisma up to eleven as the detective Pepper had mentioned was escorted into one of the offices' smaller conference rooms. Amidst cool blue and grey furniture and freshly delivered muffins, they discussed Mark Scarlotti (a.k.a. Whiplash) and Iron Man's possible involvement in his disappearance. Things were going as well as Tony could have hoped (which was to say, not very well but manageable enough) when the issue of the incriminating video was brought up.

"It's obviously fraudulent," Tony said. "Our people have come up with dozens of ways it could have been faked, and Tiberius Stone is looking into the matter as well. I'm sure that he'll corroborate-"

"Actually, Mr. Stark," the detective interrupted. He was a grim, stern type, not unlike a Tommy Lee Jones character and about half as charming. "We've already talked to Mr. Stone. He said that his experts have inspected the tape and couldn't find any reason to believe it might be a fake."

For a short moment the smile dropped from Tony's face. Tony was quite sure that wasn't right; he knew for a fact that Iron Man hadn't come into contact with Whiplash for years, and Ty's people should have at least found some tells that the video wasn't real. "And the source? Of course you'll be following up on whoever gave Tiberius the video, won't you?"

"Mr. Stone won't divulge where he obtained the video," the detective answered. All the lines of his face seemed to pull downward with the weight of his frown. "Integrity of the press and all that."

And here Tony's smile fell for a much longer period of time. He was sure that this was a mistake. "I'm sorry, but that doesn't make much sense to me. Why wouldn't Ty be doing everything in his power to help prove the fraudulence of the video?"

The detective leveled a long, considering look at him before speaking again. "It seems like you're friends with Mr. Stone, so I suggest you take it up with him. Now, will I be able to talk to Iron Man today?"

And as confused as he may have been internally, Tony had enough sense to plaster on that smile again. "I think we both know that's not going to happen. If you want to see Iron Man, Detective, you'll have to produce nothing short of an arrest warrant."

The man's frown somehow deepened even more. "Because I'm sure you would honor that."

Tony only shrugged. Soon after the detective was led out, leaving Tony to make his way back to his office to collapse in his chair. Maybe the detective was lying about Ty. Ty had pledged his help, after all, and why wouldn't he? He had been Tony's first real friend in high school, at a time when the other kids only socialized with Tony when he had something to offer them. Tony sat in his chair for a long time. He clutched his cell phone in one hand, Ty's name and number splashed across the screen, but he couldn't bring himself to actually press the Call button.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Tony looked up to see Pepper standing there, makeup a little smudged and a few strands frizzing away from her usually perfectly coiffed hair style. Apparently the day hadn't been treating her well either.

"Contemplating whether I should call Ty," Tony said. "The detective said Ty won't tell them where he got the tape and won't refute its veracity."

Pepper's lips disappeared into a thin line. It was clear enough that she was contemplating over what she should say next, but then she never did pull any punches with Tony. "I know he's your friend, but I never liked him."

Tony attempted a laugh. "That's only because he hit on you when you two first met."

Only silence greeted the not-quite-joke.

Tony cleared his throat. He looked down at his cell phone, at Ty's name glowing on its surface. "He has a good reason for it. Doesn't he?"

Tony looked up at Pepper again, his eyes wide as he waited for her to assure him that Ty was somehow looking out for his well being, only to be disappointed as she turned away.

"The press don't like to reveal anonymous sources," Tony tried, "because it discourages others from coming forward with important stories. And maybe the video was just so good that he can't find any clues that it's a fake. He can't exactly lie about it if that were the case."

"Tony," and Pepper's voice was like a bucket of ice cold water poured on his head, "he's implicating you in murder."

Iron Man, Tony wanted to correct. He was implicating Iron Man in murder. But even if Ty didn't know it, it was the same thing, after all. Tony sunk even deeper into his chair. "I'll go talk to him in person."

It had to wait until the end of a very long day, but then Happy was driving Tony to Ty's posh Murray Hill townhome, the ride short and quiet. Long enough, though, to let Tony's thoughts fester in his mind. By the end of it he wasn't sure if he would be happy or disappointed to hear whatever excuses Ty would spout at him.

The meeting itself happened in something of a haze, starting from the point where Ty greeted him warmly and pressed a glass of whiskey into his hand. After chugging it down, Tony bit out some angry words. Ty mumbled the same assurances and excuses that Tony had made to Pepper earlier. And then Tony blacked out.

He was wearing a dress. It was all pretty blue voile and puffy cap sleeves and he was sure he looked absolutely hideous in it. The knee-high white socks covering his hairy legs might have helped a little, but he was sure his facial hair was ruining the overall effect. All around him were trees, vibrant green grass, and perfectly round mushrooms every color of a neon rainbow. And on top on one rather over-sized mushroom was Ty, who Tony saw was afforded the three-piece suit he had been wearing before.

"My apologies," Ty said, working on a paper-thin device the size of a Starkpad. "We're still working out the kinks, you see. Would this outfit be more to your liking?"

The fabric around him seemed to flicker away, before metal jolted and snapped into place around him. His Iron Man suit.

Ty looked him over with disappointment in his eyes. "I can't believe you never told me. And here I thought we were such good friends."

Tony swallowed as he thought about what to say next. There were too many questions swirling around his head, and he was too confused to pick out the proper one. "How did you find out?"

"Your little chauffeur," Ty said. "Oh, don't worry about him. He got away, for now, but not before we took your briefcase from him. Imagine our surprise when we managed to get it open."

"What the hell is this, Ty?" Tony asked. He attempted to run schematics on his suit, but he wasn't getting a response. So it wasn't a double of his suit; it just looked and moved like it. "What exactly is going on?"

"It's my new invention." Ty slid off the mushroom with all the grace of a former athlete. He gestured around at the world around them. "Completely immersive television. You can watch your favorite movies from inside of them. You can even stop the movies at any point and interact with the world itself. Amazing, isn't it?"

Tony flicked his wrists a few times, trying to see if his weaponry was working. It wasn't. "Impressive."

"Yes, well, the main problem is the cost of the unit itself and the extensive labor required to convert movies into the proper format. We would lose money at any reasonable price point." Ty smiled as he made his way toward Tony. "Money is what the video was about, by the way. A very lucrative business deal. A certain group of people who will remain unidentified were very interested in Iron Man; the video had enough clues to lure him to a specific location, but I suppose you were too busy running spin control all day to notice."

"Sorry for ruining your plans," Tony said, slapping Ty's hand off when it landed on his shoulder.

"Oh, no worries. I never meant to involve you, old friend, but when you showed up, you were just too perfect as bait." Ty's smile faltered a little bit before he caught it once again. "I never imagined you were the target as well."

"Whatever you're involved with," Tony tried, "it's not too late to just stop. This is getting out of hand, Ty. It's not just agreeing to play a video. It's false imprisonment, kid-"

"Oh, it's more than that." The smile dropped from Ty's face as his eyes took on a hard glint. "You realize I can't let you go. I'm sorry to be so cliché, but unfortunately, you just know too much. Did you know that, if you die in this world, you die in the real one as well? Just another reason the product is a failure. Too many potential lawsuits."

"You would leave me here to die?" Tony asked, knowing even as he asked, even as he wanted so desperately not to believe it.

"Don't take it personally, Tony." Ty stepped away, smile back again. "This is strictly business."

"You're insane."

"Maybe."

Tony reached out for him, determined not to give up without a fight, but before his fingers could get ahold of that pinstripe suit Ty disappeared. The whole world disappeared, the black before changing channels, and then the scene was set again. A grey warehouse. Shipping containers. It could have been any number of movies, except that Steve, in Captain America garb, was tied to a chair in the middle of it.

"Steve!" Tony rushed over to where Steve was and kneeled beside him, fingers working quickly to remove his cowl. He slapped him once, and the jolt of it was hard enough that Steve started to blink his eyes open.

"Iron Man. Did Pepper get you your suit?"

"What? No. Pepper's here?"

Steve nodded and wriggled around, no doubt testing the strength of his bonds. "Happy was able to tell us what happened. I managed to knock out a lot of the guards and retrieve your suit, and I gave it to Pepper and told her to find you. Then I was caught, I think."

"Apparently," Tony murmured.

"There's a timer attached to the chair," Steve went on. "I can hear it. You have to leave before it goes off."

Tony froze for the millisecond it took for his brain to yell at him that this was not the time. Fear and frustration were pushed deep, down inside of him as he moved to inspect Ty's murder weapon of choice. It was counting down from a little less than five minutes, and it wasn't like any bomb Tony had ever seen. Tony didn't recognize any of the circuits or components. It was a movie bomb, he thought, it didn't abide by real world logic. He had no idea how to defuse it. He tried to pry the bomb off the chair, but it was no use, the fake suit more a hindrance than a help.

"Just go," Steve said.

"I'm not leaving you." And of course Ty had counted on that, counted on Tony not leaving Steve's side. Tony tried pulling apart the chains around Steve's arms instead.

"It's no use, just go."

"We have time," Tony snapped. "Just let me think a little bit."

"At the very least," Steve continued, "can I see your face before the bomb goes off?"

Tony's whole body tensed. "No."

"Why not?"

Tony swallowed, mouth dry. The look Steve was giving him was so sad and so hopeful at the same time. "I can't."

"I might die," Steve pressed, his voice calm and low.

But he couldn't. Iron Man was Steve's best friend. For him to find out it had been Tony all this time. . . it just seemed like such a betrayal. "You're not going to die. I'm going to get us out of this."

"I might die."

And the weight of the situation came crashing down around Tony. He still couldn't, but. . . "Close your eyes. Promise me you won't open them until I say so."

Confusion flickered over Steve's features before he closed his eyes obediently. "I promise."

A press of a button was all that was needed to remove Tony's faceplate. Then Tony placed both hands on either side of Steve's chair and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Steve's lips in a moment he had only ever dreamed of. And Steve was kissing him back. Desperate and enthusiastic, Steve was kissing him back. After a few too-short moments, Tony pulled away.

"I've always wanted to do that." Steve's voice was softer than Tony had ever heard it. "I was just never sure you weren't a robot A.I. that Tony had built. And then how foolish would I be, falling in love with a robot?"

The confession made him ache to the depths of his core, for so many different reasons, but this wasn't the time to dwell on any of them. Tony flipped his faceplate back down. "It's okay to look now."

"If I can't get out of this," Steve said, eyes open and plaintive, "take care of Tony for me. I know he acts confident, but he's terribly lonely. He deserves more people in his life who genuinely care about him."

Tony wasn't going to cry right now. He wasn't some kid at his father's funeral; he was a superhero. "Mr. Stark will be fine. And I'm not going to let you die, Cap, so you can take care of him yourself."

And then Tony felt like he was being slammed into a brick wall, without his suit on.

Tony gasped and sat up. He was on a metal cot in a room that definitely was not part of Ty's townhome. Either Ty had a secret basement lair or had moved them to a different location, but either way, there wasn't really time to think about it.

"Oh, God, Tony, are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

And there was Pepper standing at a control panel, Tony's briefcase at her feet.

"No," Tony assured her, "you were perfect, Pepper, as always."

Steve wasn't there, which meant they would have to look for him. He opened the briefcase, pushed his hands into position, and waited for the suit to assemble all around him. Then he stood up and blasted a hole through a wall.

Pepper yelped in surprise the first time, but then she just quietly followed as he blasted his way through the compound. It actually didn't take them too long to find Steve, looking for all the world like he was asleep on the same kind of cot Tony was on, metal nodes attached to his temples. Tony headed straight to the control panel next to Steve's cot. There was an LED display on it, counting down from two minutes.

"How did you get me out?" Tony asked.

"I don't know," Pepper replied, her tone desperate. "I was just pounding on random buttons. It took me about ten minutes before I lucked into the right combination."

Tony's eyes darted to the display; that wasn't exactly a viable option right now. "You try to work a miracle over here, Pepper. I'm going to look at the hardware and see if there's a way I can get it to release him."

As Pepper took his place at the panel, Tony crouched down and tore open what looked to be the main unit controlling everything. Circuit boards and wires. He could do this, he could figure out how all of this worked. They didn't call him a genius for nothing

"Tony," Pepper said, her voice almost frantic as she kept pressing buttons, "nothing's happening and this timer keeps going down."

"It's easy enough to free him," Tony said, already rearranging the wires and circuits in a way that wouldn't instantly kill Steve. He could overload the circuits with power and force them to release Steve before shutting the whole thing down. "It would just take a tremendous amount of power."

"Could we rewire it from whatever's powering the rest of this place?" Pepper asked, still fiddling with the buttons.

"No, we can't. How much time is left?"

"Half a minute."

Tony took a deep breath. He had a power source ready and plugged into his chest. Tony released the panel that covered his arc reactor as he stared at Steve's prone body. What he was thinking of doing would drain the reactor of all its power, but it would be worth it if Steve survived. Tony looked over at Pepper, lost and frustrated by the fact that she couldn't do anything and never giving up anyway. If Tony had known this was going to happen, he would have appointed her C.E.O. before it was too late for him to do so.

Tony ripped the reactor out of its casing. Without it his chest started to churn and riot underneath his skin, but hopefully he would have strength enough for the little time the next steps would require. He already felt flushed and out of breath, which wasn't a particularly good sign. Tony pulled the proper wires from both the device and the reactor, then turned back to Pepper one last time.

"You know, I really did love you," Tony said. Maybe not in the all-consuming way he did Steve, but he had still genuinely loved her. She was a good woman. She deserved a man like Happy.

"What are you talking about, now of all times?" Pepper asked, sounding as annoyed as she ever was with him, before she turned toward him and caught sight of what he was holding. "Tony, no."

"Sorry, Pepper." His limbs felt so heavy. Oxygen, he thought; it felt like his body wasn't getting enough of it.

"Tony, don't," Pepper said, voice shaking and a suspicious glimmer in her eyes. "Don't do it."

"I have to," Tony said, ignoring the way his heart tugged as she wiped at her eyes. At least he knew he would be missed. "He's more important than I am, Pep. You should know that by now."

And with that, Tony shoved the wires together and felt the world around him fade away.

~*~

Waking up in the mansion after nearly dying was starting to become a bad habit. But it made sense somehow. For some reason, things always seemed to come back to his father's big, cold house. This time there was even more equipment than the last time, hooked up by wires to his body all the better to monitor his condition. He was vaguely aware of a flash of light blue scrubs as they exited the room—how nice of them to hire private nurses for him—before his eyes settled on the man sitting in a chair by his bed. Steve. Steve, head lolled forward and to the side, fallen asleep waiting for him to wake up.

Tony cleared his throat. Steve jolted up, never a very deep sleeper. And for several moments to two of them just looked at one another.

"They arrested Tiberius," Steve finally said. "They'll try to find out who he was working with."

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. When he spoke, he couldn't keep his voice from shaking. "I don't care."

He didn't want to think about Ty. It hurt too much to. Julius Caesar and Marc Antony, they had called themselves, in their misspent youth. It seemed as though they had chosen the wrong characters.

"How am I still alive?" Tony asked.

"I found you. I found you. . . still in your suit. Somehow I got you to the right people quickly enough for them to save you."

Tony felt his heart sink even lower. So Steve knew now.

"I never asked who Iron Man was," Steve continued, "because I respected his privacy. I never imagined he would be you."

"Really?" Tony forced himself to laugh, but it sounded hollow and fake. "I felt like all the clues were there."

"Iron Man kissed me." _You kissed me_ were the unspoken words.

And just like that the jig was up. Tony opened his eyes, hurting more than he thought possible when he saw the pained look on Steve's face. He might as well be honest. "I think I've always been in love with you."

"I'm sorry, Tony." Steve was burying his face in his hands now. "I'm so sorry."

Tony wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that it couldn't be helped, that he shouldn't feel bad, but Tony was afraid his voice would crack under the weight of all those words.

"I watched you grow up. You're Howard's son. I just. . . I just can't think of you in that way."

And Tony knew that. He had always known that. It was why he had never said anything, why he had never done anything. But now it was all out in the open anyway. "It's okay, Steve. I understand."

Except that Steve had fallen in love with Iron Man, and Iron Man was nothing but Tony Stark in a metal suit. It was unfair, Tony thought. In a world where Steve hadn't been in a relationship with Howard, in a world where he hadn't watched Tony grow up, where would they be?

"It's fine," Tony went on, and maybe he was saying it to himself. "We can just be the way we always were."

Steve shook his head, then sighed, then nodded. "I would like that, Tony."

"You know," Tony went on. "I'm actually pretty tired. Do you mind if. . . if, well, I could have some time to myself?"

"Of course. Whatever you need, Tony." Steve stood up and reached out to squeeze Tony's shoulder, but apparently he thought better of it and let his hand drop back to his side. "Tell JARVIS if you want me. I'll drop whatever I'm doing to come here."

Tony closed his eyes as Steve walked out, door swinging shut behind him. Breath, he told himself. Just breath. This wasn't the first time the world had felt like it was crumbling all around him. _I am the master of my fate,_ he told himself. _I am the captain of my soul._ But the more he said it, the more the world felt like it was breaking down. Because he realized now that it wasn't true. He was master of nothing. He could steer his ship wherever he wanted, but there was nothing but sea and swells in any direction.

After several minutes the door opened again and Tony opened his eyes. It was a pretty young nurse, a small smile on her lips as she very obviously snuck glances of Tony from beneath lowered lashes. And this was something he could control. A goal that was obtainable. As she flitted close to the bed Tony reached out to wrap fingers around her wrist.

"Hello," he said, the smile on his face a mirror of his father's. He was rewarded with a soft giggle.

Pepper had chosen someone else. Ty had betrayed him. Steve couldn't love him. But this was easy enough. Smile, flatter, flirt. And in the lies that were his orgasms, Tony could pretend that someone he loved actually loved him back.

"Has anyone ever told you," Tony asked, thumb rubbing circles on the nurse's wrist, "that your eyes are just the loveliest shade of blue?"


End file.
